


Teach Your Children

by TheRiverScribe



Series: By the Grace of God [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Authority Figures, Cage Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Daddy Issues, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enochian, Father Figures, Fledglings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 115,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: The time has come for Sam to learn how to control his grace.But he's already gone through training as a child once, and he hated it.Now, Sam will test his own limits--and the limits of everyone around him.





	1. You, Who Are On The Road...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, eternal gratitude to my betas and plotting partners, without whom this story would not exist!!  
> @Nathyfaith  
> @ScrollingKingfisher  
> @MonPetitTresor/thequeervet  
> @Patient-Number-Zero  
> I love y'all!!   
> <3<3<3

The stillness of sleep lay heavy over the bunker like a thick blanket.

Gabriel strolled the perimeter outside, watching as dawn crept over the horizon.  Bare trees stretched like inky rivers into the slowly greying sky.  The air smelled of winter.

He felt the angel guard high above the treetops, restless with being on high-alert in the absence of action.  Raphael had left hours ago for Heaven, and the seraphs were eager to keep the small flock safe in his stead.  Gabriel sent them a silent _hello_ as he walked, and heard their joyful response hum through his grace.

When the sun’s pale light finally touched the trees, he made his way back inside to begin breakfast.  His flock would be waking soon—they rarely slept past dawn if they were uninterrupted by nightmares.  So far, they had managed two such nights in a row. 

As Gabriel took out pans and ingredients for their morning meal, he felt Raphael’s presence join him in the kitchen.  He looked up, intending to ask the Healer about his visit home, and stopped.  “Did you ransack all the libraries of Heaven?” he asked, laughing at the sight of his brother.

“No, I only brought the ones I thought might appeal to Samuel,” Raphael said, carefully setting the stacks of books on the table.  “Do you think it is too many?”

“For that nerd?  Nah.  He’ll love them.”  Gabriel shook his head in amusement as he started mixing the batter for waffles.  “What all did you bring?”

“Just some introductory tomes on Enochian, histories of Heaven and the Host, and a few essays on grace.”

Gabriel made a face.  “Ugh.  You trying to bore him to death?”

“They are only boring to you because you experienced the events first-hand,” Raphael said with a mock scowl, “and you are mad they do not contain details of your own exploits.  But they should help Samuel learn our history and culture.”

“Like I said—boring!” 

Raphael rolled his eyes, and Gabriel wondered if his brother was picking up ‘bad human habits.’  He certainly hoped so.  What he wouldn’t pay to see the most proper archangel roll his eyes at Michael.  Which reminded him…

“So, how was Heaven?” he asked carefully. 

Raphael sighed and proceeded to describe the status of their home.  It was so much worse than Gabriel had anticipated.  He knew it would be bad—he’d felt the empty spaces formerly filled by siblings as soon as he’d returned to life.  But to hear it in terms of numbers?  Unbelievable.  And to hear Raphael describe how Heaven itself was damaged from battles and wars fought in their absence shook him.

“But it was not all bad,” Raphael reassured, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him.  “I met a group of fascinating humans in Heaven who began organizing the souls into communities in our absence.  Their system is now being studied by our siblings for further development.  Michael was most impressed.”

“Souls organizing themselves?  Sounds like the humanity I know and love.  I never liked those ‘personal heavens.’”  Gabriel shuddered at the thought of existing in a pocket universe created by others and outside his own control.

“Yes.”  Raphael paused, and Gabriel turned to see an odd look on the Healer’s face.  “There were people there who are known to the Winchesters—friends _and_ family.”

“Family?”  Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“Namely John Winchester.”

“Oh.”  Gabriel set down the bowl he’d been stirring.  He had never met the boys’ father, but he’d heard stories over the years.  The man had made a name for himself long before Gabriel posed as a janitor at that university.  He’d been relieved to find the sons far less ruthless than their father. 

“He was,” Raphael seemed to search for the right words, “not what I’d imagined.”

“No?”

“No.  Death has mellowed him, and given him time to gain perspective.”

“So, he didn’t try to stab you on sight?  Wow.  Color me impressed,” Gabriel snorted.  He poured batter over the hot griddle, and started slicing thick slabs of bacon.  “Are you going to tell them?”

“Several people asked me to pass along messages.  I will not go back on my promise.”

“Well, breakfast sure is about to get a lot more interesting.”

It didn’t take long before they heard Dean and Mary moving about the communal bedroom.  Gabriel set the coffee to brew, and threw the bacon into the skillet.  He explained the complex art of waffle-making to Raphael, and watched him steadily stack each finished product on a platter. 

Dean stumbled in first, wearing his sleep pants and old robe.  He grunted a greeting on his way to the coffee.  By the time he’d drained half his cup, Mary joined them. 

“Good morning,” she said with a yawn.  Dean handed her a steaming mug, already fixed to her liking, and she kissed his cheek.  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Dean beamed even as he blushed.  “You’re welcome, mom.”

“Where’s Sam and Morpheus?  Are they still asleep?” Gabriel asked.

“Sam’s drooling worse than the dog,” Dean huffed.  “Although, I think Morph is faking it.  Little shit worked his way up to _my_ pillow sometime during the night.  Cas thinks it's funny, but we’ll see who’s laughing when his trench coat is covered in fur and slobber.”

“Whoa!  What’s all this?  Was there a sale?”  They turned to see Mary gawking at the book-covered table.

“Just a few books I brought for Samuel,” Raphael answered.  His voice was steady, but Gabriel could feel the undercurrent of nervousness flowing through his brother.

“Brought from where?” Mary asked.  “And when?  Last night?”

“Yes, I returned to Heaven for a short while once everyone fell asleep.  I needed to check in with Michael and the Host.  I brought some materials to help with Samuel’s training.  I thought he might prefer to read them rather than listen to history lectures.”

“Good idea.  Sammy’s never been too fond of listening in general.”  Dean smirked into his coffee cup as though enjoying a private joke.

“Maybe you just never said anything interesting.”  Sam’s sleepy voice drew everyone’s attention.  One arm was wrapped around his midsection in an odd way, and Gabriel almost asked if he felt okay when he noticed a fluffy white ear sticking up from inside the boy’s hoodie.  Castiel stood behind them, a fond smile on his face. 

“Samshine!” Gabriel moved from around the counter to comb his fingers through Sam’s bed-head and shamelessly peek at the tiny dog.  “How are you two doing this morning, hmm?  Sleep well?”

Sam yawned and his arm tightened slightly around Morpheus.  “Yeah.  Probably coulda slept longer but _someone_ decided to loudly fling his blankets around before leaving the room.”  He sent a death glare toward Dean.

“Hey!” Dean retorted with fake anger, “Maybe I’d have been more courteous if your dog hadn’t decided to take over my pillow when he had a whole room full of beds!”

“He’s not _my_ dog, Dean,” Sam shot back. 

“‘Not my dog’ my ass,” Dean grumbled, “You’re the one carrying him around inside your shirt.”

“He’s cold,” Sam mumbled, looking down into his shirt with a smile.

 _Tell your brother that I could shift into my larger form if he’d prefer._ Morpheus’s voice rang clear through the angels’ minds, and Sam laughed.

“What?  What did he say?” Dean asked, looking at all the people he knew could answer him.  Sam relayed the message and Dean’s face went slightly pale.  “No!  No, it’s cool.  He’s fine in your shirt.  Just don’t complain to me if you end up with fleas.”

A high-pitched growl emerged from Sam’s hoodie, and Dean made a hasty retreat back to the coffee maker. 

“Is breakfast ready?”  Sam asked, eyes lighting up at the sight of the waffles.  Gabriel made a note of his reaction—it was hard finding something other than fruit to entice the boy to eat in the morning.

“Yup!  Go grab a seat,” he said, nudging Sam toward the table, “and ask Morpheus what he’d like to eat.  Oh, Raphael—please find another home for those dusty things.”

 _I’ll eat whatever Sam eats,_ Morpheus told the angel.

“Coming right up!” Gabriel called back.

Sam’s eyes went comically wide with awe at the sight of the books covering the table.  He clamored to climb up his chair, careful not to smash Morpheus.  Trailing a finger lightly over the Enochian symbols etched into the closest cover, he asked, “What are they?”

“They’re books, dumbass,” Dean answered, taking the seat next to his brother.  Sam kicked him under the table. 

“They are for you, Samuel.  Where would you like me to put them?”  Raphael moved to stand by the table.

“For me?”  Sam sounded surprised.  He opened the book whose cover he’d been tracing.  It suddenly flipped shut again, causing him to snatch his hand back and jump.

“No reading before breakfast!” Gabriel teased as he placed a plate of food in front of Sam and a saucer full of bacon and eggs.  He then waved a hand over the stacks.  The books shimmered and disappeared.  “There.  I sent them to the tables in the library.  You can look at them later.  I doubt you want to get syrup all over their pages anyway.  Raphael may revoke your Heavenly library card.”

Sam glanced shyly at the Healer.  “You brought me books from Heaven?”

Raphael simply nodded and took a seat.  Castiel and Mary joined them at the table, each carrying a plate of food.  Gabriel brought a tray with syrup, butter, and a canister of coffee to set in the middle of everyone.  “Alright, eat up everyone,” he said, grabbing the syrup to pour over Sam’s waffle.

“No syrup, thanks,” Sam said as he covered his plate with his hands to shield it. 

“But they’re waffles!”  Gabriel stared at the boy in horror.  “That’s why it’s got all the little grooves—to hold pools of syrup and butter!  That’s why they’re better than pancakes!”

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes as he began to cut the pile of berries into tiny pieces and spread them across the waffle. 

Dean grabbed the syrup out of the disgusted archangel’s hand.  “Give it up.  I told you, he doesn’t listen.  And he likes to be super stubborn when it comes to food.”  He grunted when Sam kicked him again.

“So, Raphael,” Mary said from the end of the table opposite of Sam, “do you have to return to Heaven for good or were you just visiting?”

Sam paused, fork midway between his plate and his mouth.  His face remained schooled, hiding the distress that his young grace freely expressed.  Gabriel ran his palm gently over the puffed wings, smoothing them back into place.  He tried to cover the movement by snagging a bit of bacon off the saucer and leaning closer to offer it to Morpheus.  _Relax, kiddo._

“I will be dividing my time between here and Heaven.  There is much to be done there, and they will need my help in healing all the seraphs.” Raphael answered, then turned to Sam.  “I would like to begin teaching you how to control your grace soon, Samuel.  Your wings are developing faster than I’d anticipated.  Most fledglings would have a few centuries of experience perfecting the basics of their grace before sprouting wings, but you were not given that time.”

“Good thing Sammy’s a fast learner,” Dean praised with a wink, “The kid was practically fluent in Latin by the time he was eleven or twelve.”

Morpheus wriggled around so he was sitting upright on Sam’s lap.  He ate the bacon from Gabriel’s hand, licking the archangel’s fingers clean seconds later.  _This is very good, thank you._ Morpheus pawed at the zipper on Sam’s hoodie, pushing it down enough so he could see past the material.  Gabriel poured Sam a cup of coffee.

Sam nodded his gratitude.  He glanced at Dean, mumbling, “Yeah, because I had _such_ a choice,” as he sipped his drink. 

Dean ignored him, turning instead to Gabriel as the archangel took a seat between Raphael and Mary.  “So, all those books are for angel-school?  Bet you never thought you’d be back in training again, huh Sam?”  Dean reached over to ruffle Sam’s hair, but had to make a hasty retreat to avoid getting stabbed with a fork.  “Whoa, dude!  Guess your reflexes are still good.  Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you up so early.”  His tone was joking, but his expression showed concern for his brother’s reaction.

Gabriel watched, keeping his own worry over Sam’s rapidly deteriorating mood in check.  Sam was not aggressive by nature—it usually only manifested when he felt nervous over a lack of control.  But the boy loved learning, so Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure where this was coming from. 

“No stabbing at the breakfast table, boys,” Mary said into her coffee.

“Stabbing’s not allowed, but the dog can have a plate on the table?” Dean asked, still bewildered by the whole situation.

“You shut your mouth, Dean Winchester,” Mary snapped playfully, “Morpheus can prance around the center of the table and eat off all our plates as far as I’m concerned.  Just look at that face!”  She blew a kiss to the tiny speck of fluff that was gingerly pulling a slice of bacon from his plate. 

Morpheus paused in his attempts at not making a mess, and stood at attention, yipping in excitement.  Sam grabbed him before he could leap onto the table.  Dean hunched over his own plate protectively, scowling at the canine.

Raphael chuckled at their antics, though Gabriel could feel his brother’s concern mirror his own.  “Fledglings do not have ‘school’ in the way humans understand the concept.  They mostly learn through osmosis, from their caretakers, when they are still formless balls of infant light.  Our histories are sung to them in Enochian, and learning control is more a matter of guiding their instincts than teaching specific methods.”

Dean perked up.  “Oh, man.  Suddenly, I’m picturing you singing to Sam while you rock him to sleep or something.  Please tell me I get to watch.”  Sam landed a well-placed kick to Dean’s knee, making the hunter yelp in pain and scoot away in his chair.  “If you don’t quit kicking me, I’m gonna stop sitting next to you!”

“Then quit being a jerk, Dean!”

“I will—just as soon as you quit being a little bitch about everything!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Mary said, frustrated.  “What has gotten into you two today?”

Dean startled at the sound of her voice, sitting up straighter and looking sufficiently chastised.  Sam, however, sunk lower in his chair as his face flushed.  Gabriel thought it from embarrassment, but the white-knuckle grip on Sam’s fork told him the boy was agitated. 

Raphael cleared his throat.  “No, we will not be teaching Sam in the traditional way.  I suspect it will be more like meditation than lessons at times, or more involved grooming.”

Castiel sipped his coffee from beside the hunter, elbowing him when he opened his mouth to respond.  Dean just rolled his eyes and focused on stuffing his face.  “And how was Heaven, Raphael?” the seraph asked nervously, likely knowing the answer would be bad. 

Everyone grew quiet as they waited for his response.

Raphael took a deep breath.  “It was…mixed.  While it was wonderful to reconnect with our siblings again, the state of Heaven and the Host was devastating to witness.”

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked quietly.

“War and neglect greatly diminished our numbers, and it seems like the fall burnt the wings of those who remain.  Heaven itself is near ruins—whole sections have been abandoned without those skilled enough to make repairs.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” Mary gasped.

Gabriel swallowed his own response.  He’d heard some of the gory details from Castiel when he’d first arrived, but he hadn’t seen it.  Looking at their younger brother across the table, he saw the effect the words had on him as well.  Castiel’s face was grey, and he kept his gaze fixed firmly on his coffee cup. 

“Yes,” Raphael said with a solemn nod, then smiled, “but not everything about my trip was negative.  I met some old friends of yours.”  His gaze flickered from Mary to her sons.

Gabriel wanted to smash his face against the table.  Raphael did not understand de-escalation at _all_.  This was probably not the best time to bring up seeing John and the others.  But it was too late now.

“Old friends?” Dean asked.  “Of _ours_?  Like who?  We’ve got a lot of dead friends.”

“I found myself rather partial to a Bobby Singer,” Raphael answered warmly. 

“Bobby!?”  Both boys wore identical expressions of surprised glee.

“Yes,” Raphael’s smile grew brighter, “He is a remarkable man.  And quite fond of everyone here—excluding us archangels.  Sorry, Gabriel.  He seemed very perplexed as to why your presence was permitted by Dean.”

Dean snorted.  “Like I could get rid of him at this point.”

“Yeah, good luck with that, Deano!” Gabriel smirked.  “I knew making nine bacon-themed dishes at that first breakfast would win you over.”

“But not me, right?” Mary asked, confusion painting her face.  “I mean, I don’t know a Bobby Singer.”

All eyes turned to Raphael when he let out a sigh.  “Actually, that was something I need to discuss with you, Mary.  You did, in fact, know Bobby Singer, although it appears you lost some memories when Amara resurrected you.”

“What?” she asked in alarm.  “What do you mean?  What memories?”

“From your time in Heaven,” he explained.  “Is there anything you remember between your death and resurrection?”

“No, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Well, with your permission, I can examine your mind later and see if there is anything I can do to retrieve what’s been lost.  Bobby wasn’t the only one asking about you.”

“Who else was there?” Dean demanded.  “You said ‘friends’ plural.”

“I met several in a place called ‘The Roadhouse.’  A bar maintained by a family by the name of Harvelle.”

“Ellen and Jo!”  Sam said, smiling sadly.

Raphael nodded.  “And her husband, Bill.  Then there was a psychic, Pamela.  And Rufus Turner.”

Dean laughed.  “Let me guess—Pam flirted with you and Rufus carried his favorite whiskey while grumbling at everyone.”

“I would say that is an accurate assessment of both persons.  The leader of this group of rebellious souls—they called themselves ‘Heaven’s Hunters,’ I believe—was an odd young man who went by the name Ash.  Brilliant, absolutely brilliant—he’s figured out how to manipulate grace using a computer of his own making.  And now, they are liberating the souls from their personal Heavens and forming entire communities!”

“That’s Ash for ya!” Dean said proudly.  “He’d already worked out how to skip through the different Heaven’s during the Apocalypse.”

“Did you meet anyone else?” Sam asked.  Gabriel noted that the boy was bracing himself—like hearing the names of those who’d passed were causing him more pain than joy. 

“Yes.  Your prophet-friend, Kevin Tran, was among them as well.  Cheeky young man tried to smuggle half my library back to their headquarters while I was present.  I let him keep them.  I can’t imagine the hardship he faced being a prophet with no archangel protection.”

“You got _no_ idea,” Dean mumbled, refilling his coffee.  The hunter glanced at his brother, frowning at how subdued Sam had become.  “It’s good to know all our friends are raising a little hell up in Heaven, isn’t it Sam?”

“It’d be better if they were still raising it here on Earth,” Sam answered without looking up.  

Dean sighed, and refilled his brother’s coffee cup as a peace-offering.  Sam rewarded him with a small smile. 

 _Quit drawing things out and just tell them, Raphael!_ Gabriel said privately to the archangel.  It wasn’t silent enough, though, because both Sam and Castiel turned to look at him—one worried, one curious. 

Raphael shifted in his seat, drawing everyone’s attention.  “There were several others—some were off on missions, and I didn’t get everyone’s names.  But one asked me to pass on a message—your father, John.”

There was an audible intake of breath from all three Winchesters.  They stared in shock at Raphael without speaking for over a minute.  Even Castiel looked taken aback by the news.

“What was his message?” Dean finally asked, his voice thick with too many emotions.

“He wanted me to tell you that he loved you all.  And he asked that I help Mary with her missing memories—it distressed him to think that you had lost the time you’d spent together in Heaven.  But he was relieved to know both of his boys were reunited with their mother.”  Raphael kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible. 

“Does he know about me?  That I’m,” Sam gestured to himself awkwardly, “different now?”

“Yes.  I explained to them the basics of what led to your transformation.  John was much more concerned about what led to your need for healing, and the injuries you’d since sustained, than the fact that you are now a fledgling.”

Sam set down his fork with measured control.  “I-I’m not very hungry.  I think I’m gonna take a look at the books.  Did you say they’re in the library?” he asked blankly, climbing off his seat before anyone could protest.

“Umm, yeah,” Gabriel answered, “they’re on the tables there.”

Sam nodded without looking up.  “Do you want me to bring your plate, Morpheus?” he whispered into his shirt.

_No, I am done._

Sam scurried out of the room with the small dog tucked back into his hoodie. 

“I will go with him,” Raphael said as he started to rise.

“No,” Castiel stopped him with a raised hand and stood himself, “I will go.”  He looked at the Healer with sad eyes.  _There are aspects of Sam’s reaction that you do not understand yet._

Raphael reluctantly conceded with a nod, settling back down in his chair as Castiel hurried from the room.  _That did not go as well as I’d anticipated,_ the Healer said to Gabriel.

Gabriel glared at him out of the corner of his eye.  _Bro—they almost stabbed each other with eating utensils.  What made you think that was the signal for telling them about Heaven?_

_I thought hearing that their father loved them might lighten the mood._

Gabriel turned to look more fully at his brother.  _You definitely need to read up on your Winchester history, Raph.  His dying words to Dean were an order to either save Sam or kill him—without giving any context or reason._

Raphael looked stricken.  _I did not know this._

_I think Sam still believes, on some level, that him being “not human” means there’s something dirty or wrong with him.  It’s something we’ve been working on._

_I see._  

“So,” Dean started, looking like he very much knew he was interrupting their silent conversation, “did Dad try to stab you?”

Raphael smiled, and forced himself to relax.  “No, he didn’t.  And as you are not the first person to ask me that, I shall count myself honored.”  He chuckled softly.  “Actually, he poured me a drink.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up higher than Gabriel had ever seen.  “Well, this I gotta hear.”

* * *

Sam walked on auto-pilot all the way to the library.  He didn’t even realize Morpheus was talking to him until he felt tiny teeth nip at his arm through the hoodie.  The specter of John followed him, telling him to never come back.

 _Sam?  Sam!  Can you hear me, pup?_   Morpheus’ voice, softer in his smaller form, finally reached Sam’s ears.

“Sorry, Morpheus,” he whispered, “Sorry, I was…distracted.”

Morpheus twisted in his arms so he stood with his front paws propped against Sam’s chest.  _It’s okay.  Do you mind putting me down now?_

Sam stared down into dark eyes and nodded.  “Sorry, yeah.  Of course.”  He gently extracted the small dog from his clothes and placed him on the floor. 

 _I am going to shift now, okay Sam?_ Morpheus stated, adding the question to the end and waiting for Sam’s consent.

“S-sure.  Whatever you need to do is fine, Morpheus.”  Sam backed away as the small dog shook himself.  The swirl of fur billowed outward until the massive canine he’d seen the night before towered above him.  He gulped down the urge to call for one of the others as Morpheus took small steps toward him.

 _Calm down, pup.  I’m still the one you just now carried in your shirt—the same one who ate with you at the table, and who slept by your side, and who pushed your brother off his pillow._  

“You did that on purpose?” Sam blurted out, forgetting he was supposed to be nervous.

Morpheus took one last step, bringing him face-to-face with Sam.  He huffed a laugh and Sam felt the hot air blow through his hair.  _Of course!  The blue-eyed angel found it very amusing.  You can ask him—he’s approaching this room now._

Sam turned in time to see Castiel appear at the doorway.  Those blue-eyes went comically wide when they landed on Morpheus, and his wings fluffed out in alarm.  But he quickly collected himself, tucking his wings out of sight and nodding to them both.  “I, umm, just wanted to make sure you are alright, Sam.  I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Morpheus was just explaining how you’d approved of him stealing Dean’s pillow last night,” Sam explained, casually sidestepping the first part of Castiel’s statement. 

The unexpected change in topic made Castiel pause, then smile.  “Ah, yes.  I felt it was an appropriate retribution for the way your brother acted last night.  And completely worth it to see Dean’s face this morning.  Although, I regret his extended reaction woke you up—for that, I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, Cas.”  Sam waved it off.  The stacks of books caught his eye and he walked over to the closest stack.  He counted at least twenty of them spread out across the table.  “Wow.  I can’t believe how many books Raphael brought me to read.  And these are just to get started.  Do you think I’ll have to read the complete history of Heaven and the Host?  Because that might take me longer to read it than it took you guys to live through it.”

“No, Sam,” Castiel chuckled and looked over the books.  “Besides—these are not the complete histories anyway.  Raphael only brought introductory books that highlight main events.  The complete histories would not fit on this continent.”

Sam blinked in shock.  He’d travelled all over America, and knew the vast size of the country.  They’d even occasionally slipped across the northern and southern borders to visit Canada and Mexico.  But he could not begin to grasp how many books it would take to overflow the continent. 

“I guess I should start reading,” he mumbled, reaching for the closest book. 

“Wait, Sam,” Castiel stopped him.  When Sam didn’t look at him, the seraph crouched down until they were eye-level.  “I know Raphael may have less tact than myself at times, but he does not lie or bend the truth.  If he says that John accepted your new form, then he means it.”

“But that’s not what he said.”

Castiel frowned.  “What?”

Sam finally brought his eyes up to meet the seraph’s gaze.  “He didn’t say my dad ‘accepted’ me being an angel.  He said that dad was more concerned about my injuries than my being an angel.  That’s not the same thing.”

“He said John wanted you all to know he loves you,” Castiel insisted.

“Yeah, well,” Sam gave a resigned sigh, “love’s never stopped him from ‘doing the right thing’ before.”

“What does that mean?”

Sam shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter, Cas.  Don’t worry about it.”

Castiel’s hand grasped Sam’s chin and brought their faces closer together.  “ _What_ does that _mean,_ Sam?” he asked again, more firmly the second time.

Sam sucked in a breath.  “I-It means that _love_ didn’t stop my dad exiling me from the family when I chose Stanford.  And after we’d reunited, it didn’t stop him from telling Dean to either save or kill me as his dying wish!  I really doubt _death_ has changed him that much—not when he crawled his way out of hell after a century of torture to _continue_ his revenge against Azazel!”

A soft, low growl from behind Sam reminded him that they were not alone.  Morpheus pressed a cold nose into his hair, like he was trying to offer comfort.  Somehow, it helped—the tightness in Sam’s chest eased as the nuzzling continued.

“You think John will reject you for having grace now?” Castiel asked sadly.

Sam shrugged, unsure how he _himself_ felt about having grace.  The fact remained—he was no longer human.  He wasn’t even a normal angel.  It seemed he would remain a freak no matter _what_ species tried to reshape him to their image. 

Castiel’s hand released Sam’s chin.  Sam closed his eyes as fingers traced along his jaw and up to his temples.  He felt the large palms gently frame his face and a soft kiss press against his forehead.  “I wish I could speak for your father, and reassure you with certainty that he accepts you.  But I do not know John, and have not met the man he’s become in Heaven.  However, I can tell you that _our_ Father made you perfectly—both as a human and as an angel.”

Sam bit his lip to keep his emotions under control.  “Chuck is kinda everyone’s ‘Father’ though, since He technically made all of creation.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Sam Winchester.  Yes, Chuck is Father to all, but that does not negate the fact that He hand-crafted you with His own grace.  He has only done so four other times—with the other archangels.  He is as much your Father as John, and not in a metaphoric sense.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, all control of emotions evaporating with Castiel’s proclamation.  It was hard enough to accept the idea that the angels might see him as a sibling—what was he supposed to do with a literal “God the Father?”  His relationship with John had been complicated at best.  He couldn’t imagine trying to meet the expectations of another father, let alone the Universe’s Creator.

Castiel must have seen something on Sam’s face because his eyes softened.  “I imagine this is not an easy concept to comprehend, let alone accept.  But don’t worry—you have time.”  He pressed a second kiss to Sam’s crown.  “Why don’t you and Morpheus go outside for a walk.  These books will still be here later.  Go get some fresh air, and I will join you in a little while to groom your wings.”

“You’ll let me go outside alone?” Sam asked in surprise.  The others barely let him go to the bathroom alone these days.  To go outside without one of the angels or his brother or mother almost felt like running away. 

Morpheus’ head muzzle butted against Sam’s back, knocking him straight into Castiel’s chest with an audible “oomph.”  _You will not be alone.  Even in my smaller form, I am not defenseless._

“There is also the angel guard, although they will only make their presence known if absolutely necessary.  You should not see them,” Castiel assured him.

Sam winced at the reminder of the other angels lurking in their treetops.  “Right,” he said, trying to keep any trace of sarcasm from reaching his voice.  “Maybe you should give us a head-start, Cas.  I don’t think the others will be too happy to hear I’m outside without one of them there to hold my hand.”

Castiel nodded and stood back up.  “I will do my best.  Dean should be easy enough to deal with—I’ll simply tell him that Morpheus might start sleeping in his larger form on the bed until Dean trusts that he’s capable of keeping you safe.”

Sam found himself smiling at the idea.  Turning to Morpheus, he came face-to-face with a large wolfish grin.  “Maybe we should do that anyway.”

 _Fear can be healthy,_ Morpheus agreed.  _Come on, pup.  We will go for a walk.  And then, I will teach you to ride._

Sam’s mouth dropped open.  “What?  Ride what?”

Morpheus’ teeth snagged the collar of Sam’s shirt, pulling him toward the doorway.  _Me.  I cannot carry you in my mouth, so you will learn to sit on my back.  Don’t worry—I’ve taught all my two-legged charges how to ride._

Sam had no response.  He allowed himself to be pulled along, suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten much for breakfast.  _Dean’s never gonna let me live this down_ , he mentally groaned.  With that in mind, there was no room for thoughts about disappointed fathers.


	2. ...Must Have A Code That You Can Live By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and kudos and sent me messages on Tumblr!!! These past couple weeks have been heartbreaking, and y'all remind me that the world is perhaps not as doomed as I believed. Please, continue to be loving and kind to one another. The world needs more kindness right now.

Castiel returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart.  As an angel, he wished he could shoulder more of Sam’s burdens.  But how could he carry another’s self-doubt and insecurity?  He had plenty of his own to bear, and if it were possible, he’d make room for more.

He found the kitchen livelier than expected.  The tension from earlier still remained, though everyone seemed determined to push through it.  Dean was mid-story about a time John had caught him drunk as a teen in a New York City bar.  Mary tried to look more amused than concerned, but Castiel saw through her smile.  Even Gabriel’s laugh sounded forced.

The story ended abruptly when Dean caught sight of him in the doorway.  “How’s he doing, Cas?  Buried in books yet?” he asked, going for casual but his worry was easy to read.

Castiel rejoined them at the table, taking slow steps to give himself time to choose his words.  “Sam is…struggling.  I sent him and Morpheus outside for a walk.”

“Alone?” Mary asked, almost dropping her coffee mug in alarm.

“No,” Castiel explained carefully, already prepared for the arguments, “Sam is with Morpheus, and they will both be protected by the angel guard.  We can join them in a while, but Sam enjoys solitude when he gets overwhelmed—which we have not allowed since his change.  And I considered his eagerness to go outside at all to be a step in the right direction considering his hesitance to do so since his kidnapping.”

“He’s right, Mom.”  Dean said, although he didn’t look happy either.  “Even when it’s just been the two of us, we’ve still made time to be apart.  He’d do research while I’d interview witnesses.  We’d take turns doing food runs so the other could shower or just kick-back for a bit.  Honestly, I can’t remember the last time we’ve constantly been together like we are now.  Probably not since we were both kids.”

“No wonder Sammy was ready to stab you with a fork.”  Gabriel grimaced. 

“Believe me—the feeling was mutual.”  Dean drained his coffee.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he insists on going back to separate rooms within a day or two.”

Gabriel looked sick, and Castiel didn’t blame him.  The week before the kidnapping had been awful in terms of sleep in the bunker.  The stress of Sam’s nightmares had kept everyone on edge. 

“God, I hope not,” Mary whispered. 

“Separate rooms?” Raphael asked. 

The concept was foreign to the archangel.  While angels didn’t technically sleep, Castiel knew the young ones still required rest to recharge and grow.  In Heaven’s nursery, they were bundled together in near-constant contact with other grace-beings.  The idea of a fledgling isolating themselves felt wrong—it just didn’t happen.

“Yeah, Sam’s only allowing himself to sleep in the communal bedroom because he’s still recovering from the kidnapping,” Gabriel explained.  “Dean’s probably right.  Once the kid’s feeling more like himself, he’ll go back to claiming his independence by sleeping alone.”

Raphael stared at them all.  “What does sleeping alone have to do with independence?”

“You kidding me, Doc?”  Dean laughed.  “Sam stopped sharing a bed with me by the time he was eight years old unless Dad made him.  Otherwise, he’d insist on a cot or the sofa if the room had one available.  By the time he was a teenager, he’d sleep on the floor before sharing a bed with me.”

“I do not understand.  _What_ does one’s sleeping location have to do with independence?  Can you not be independent _and_ sleep close to your family?  Does it not provide warmth and safety and comfort?”  Raphael turned to Mary.  “I know your sons grew up in unique circumstances.  Surely, the rest of humanity does not adhere to these same strange standards.”

Mary gave a strained smile.  “Hate to break it to you, but they do.  It’s pretty normal in Western cultures to only sleep with those you’re romantically involved with once you reach a certain age with only occasional exceptions.”

“But Samuel is a fledgling.  He _needs_ to be close to others while resting—especially angels.  His grace will demand it soon, and he has already proven capable of pushing aside those needs and instincts.  It is not healthy.”  Raphael shook his head, determination visibly building in his own grace. 

Castiel worried the archangel might fly off to confront Sam about the issue this very moment, but Gabriel intervened. 

“Calm down, bro.  Nothing’s happened yet.”  Gabriel playfully tugged at the Healer’s wings, then smoothed them over.  “We have time to strategize.  And even if Sam decides to go back to his old room, he won’t be alone—I seriously doubt Morpheus would allow himself to be separated at this point.”

Raphael settled back in his seat, momentarily satisfied that they had options.  But everyone could see the wheels turning in his head.  Castiel wondered whose stubbornness would win in the end—the archangel or the fledgling.

* * *

Sam led Morpheus out to the bunker’s backyard.  It was strange to think they’d only just met the night before.  The canine’s presence by his side felt completely natural—like he’d been there for years instead of hours.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to question the sudden acceptance—after all, Sam’s history of following his instincts concerning supernatural creatures had often ended in disaster.  He needed to be especially careful that their newest addition didn’t ostracize Dean.  As funny as his brother’s reactions had been so far, Sam knew it could easily spiral into jealousy and anger.

_You’ve got some deep thoughts there, pup._   Morpheus nuzzled his hair as they walked along the tree-line. 

The frost-covered grass crunched beneath their feet, and Sam looked down at Morpheus’ paws.  “Does the cold hurt your feet?  Should we sit by the fire instead of walk?” he asked instead of responding to the canine’s comment. 

Morpheus snorted in amusement.  _Do I look cold to you?_

“Well, no.  But your paws…”

_My paws could handle pure ice and snow for days at a time.  Do not worry about me.  I will tell you if there is a problem with any activity or location._

Sam frowned.  “You were cold this morning,” he insisted. 

_I was lazy,_ Morpheus confessed. 

Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but cut off in a gasp when he felt a tongue lick across the juncture between the side of his neck and shoulder.  It tickled, causing a full-body shiver.  “Hey!” he tried to sound firm, but it came out more of a squeal. 

_What would you like to do, Sam?  Walk in the woods or stay in the yard?_

“Actually,” Sam wiped the slobber off his neck while glancing around the yard, “I need to get back into my running routine.  This body has no muscle or training at all, and I haven’t had the chance to test my stamina yet.”

_You like to run?_ Morpheus trotted around to face Sam. 

“I didn’t always,” Sam said with a wry grin, “but it grew on me as I got older.  By the time I went to Stanford, I loved it.  When we found this place, I had my own path and everything for the first time—so much better than random motel parking lots, or nameless streets.”  He walked over to the firepit and sat on one of the blankets still laid out on the ground. 

Morpheus followed, watching him start his stretches.  _Why are you worried about having more muscle?_

Sam shrugged.  “You didn’t see me before—I used to be taller than Raphael and had more muscle mass than Dean.”  He paused in his stretches and looked at Morpheus.  “Don’t tell him I said that.”

His muscles were all tight from not being used properly, and it took a while before Sam felt ready to try running.  Or jogging, at least—it probably wasn’t a good idea to rush straight into a sprint with a relatively new body.  Standing, Sam did a final stretch with his back and looked out over the yard to map his usual route. 

_Where do you normally run here?_

“There’s a natural path through the woods that I widened a couple years ago.  I got tired of bloodying my legs on thorny branches.”  There was no way he’d be able to run the full five-to-seven-mile course on his first day, but maybe he could do two.  “You gonna follow?”

_Like you could stop me._   Morpheus chuffed at the idea of staying behind.

“Well, let’s go,” Sam said, starting at a light jog, “before the others come out and decide I need a nap.”

They moved at a light and steady pace without the need for conversation.  The sun gleamed off the frost, not yet warm enough to melt.  Sam’s sneakers slid in some places and he forced himself to go slower when the path was covered in leaves or grass. 

It didn’t take long for the sweat to start pouring down his face and neck.  His muscles screamed from lack of use, but he pushed further.  _I’ve not even gone half a mile yet,_ he scolded himself, _I can still see the yard for fuck’s sake!_

He hadn’t even been this out of shape as a six-year-old the first time around—John Winchester had seen to that.  The brothers were used to running laps around motel parking lots in the pre-dawn hours before they entered kindergarten.  Dean had always run alongside him, turning it into a game when Sam got too tired or frustrated.

Sam smiled at the memory even as sweat ran into his eyes.  As a child, he’d appreciated his brother’s presence and infectious enthusiasm.  It was the only thing that got him through most of those mornings.  But looking back on those times with much older eyes allowed him to see something very different—a young boy desperate to keep his even younger brother from complaining and angering their father. 

His smile faded as he thought again of John.  Sam had only questioned their morning routines on rare occasions.  When he turned four, he’d been deemed old enough to start basic training.  He remembered feeling excited at being allowed to join Dean in his “big boy” activities.  But within a week, that joy had soured from sore limbs and exhausted tears. 

One morning, Sam refused to get out of bed no matter how much Dean begged and cajoled.  John’s sudden appearance brought an end to the argument.  He’d thrown the blankets off Sam and made him run double.  Even Dean was near-tears when they’d finished. 

Shaking his head, Sam brought himself back to the present.  His lungs burned, and he blamed the stinging in his eyes on the sweat.  As he wiped a sleeve across his face, he missed the tree root on the path.  He landed on the hard ground with an undignified yelp, confused and half-blind from his stupid hood.

The sound of rapid footsteps drew near, and Sam’s panic overwhelmed any pains from the fall.  He yanked the hood back, ignoring the sharp burn in his palms, and almost screamed.  Concerned blue eyes blazed within a sea of white only inches from Sam’s face. 

_Are you hurt?_ Morpheus asked as he sniffed and inspected every part of Sam he could reach. 

“I-I’m fine,” Sam panted, unable to catch his breath, “I…there was sweat…I couldn’t see.”  He tried to stand, but his legs shook.  Heat seared his right knee, and he looked down to see a sizeable gash in his pants where blood oozed freely. 

Morpheus circled him, then laid on the ground facing the way they came.  _Get on.  I’ll take us back._

“What?” Sam asked, dumbfounded.  He’d hoped the whole “I’ll teach you to ride” thing had been a joke.

_Up, pup.  Your knee and hands need healing, and we’re too far out for you to walk back now.  So—up!_   He said the word like a human ordering an animal to “sit” and “stay.”  He said it like someone expecting to be obeyed.

“You gonna tell me to ‘roll over and play dead’ too?” Sam asked, only half-joking. 

Morpheus turned a baleful eye on him.  _Only if you prove smart enough to grasp the concept of ‘up.’  Which you have not.  Do I need to repeat it?_

“No!”  Sam frowned indignantly, and looked at Morpheus’ back.  The canine was massive, even while laying down.  “Am I supposed to just climb onto your back?”

_Yes, unless you’d prefer to stand.  Then I could walk under you in my smaller form and shift._   There was humor in his deep rumble, but also a hint of truth—Morpheus would do it if Sam didn’t climb.

“You’re as bad as my brother,” Sam grumbled as he clumsily pulled himself onto the canine.  Blood from his scraped palms left streaks of red across the pure white fur.  “I don’t know why you two aren’t best friends.  You’re both bossy.”

_Maybe he and I are too alike.  Plus, I prefer him unsettled and on-edge—he’s more amusing that way._   Morpheus rumbled with laughter and Sam felt the vibrations through the fluff.  He hoped this wasn’t a mistake.  _Alright, you won’t be riding me like a horse.  Bend your knees, and grip with your thighs.  We’ll work on technique at various speeds another time—for now, just try not to fall.  If you feel unbalanced, lay forward and hold my neck.  Understand, pup?_

“’m not a pup,” Sam muttered, but obeyed.  His right knee hurt to bend, but it wasn’t intolerable. 

_I’m going to stand up now.  Ready?_

Sam grunted his acknowledgment, then gasped as he rose in the air.  The movement was smooth, but still disorienting.  He’d only ridden a horse when he and Dean had been sent back in time to retrieve phoenix ashes from the wild west.  The experience had left him bruised and sore for days.

Morpheus’ head swung around to look at him.  His blue eyes studied Sam’s position and wary expression.  _Relax, Sam.  We’re going to walk back slowly.  It will be good practice for you, but I promise not to jostle you or take off in a run._

The canine stayed true to his word, and kept his steps slow and measured on the path toward the bunker.  His smooth gait allowed Sam time to relax.  And as he grew more familiar with the movement, Sam adjusted his position until he felt comfortable. 

“So, I guess you _weren’t_ joking about me learning to ride?” Sam asked once he was certain he wouldn’t fall.

Morpheus snorted.  _No, I was not joking._

“Isn’t it, like, demeaning to you?  To have people ride you like this?”

_I must have a way to get my charges out of danger.  If you were a physical pup, I could scruff you and run.  But many of the children I’ve cared for were shaped like you.  I learned long ago to improvise, and this is the best method I’ve found._

“Are we talking, like, if the bunker caught fire or…?” Sam trailed off, the image of flames taking over the other scenarios he’d been entertaining.  Did they even have smoke detectors in the bunker?

_Or if we were to come under attack._   Morpheus’ words broke through Sam’s wandering thoughts. 

“We’d run from an attack?” Sam scoffed.  When was the last time they’d run from anything?  Even with the Darkness, the retreat was only long enough to regroup for another attack.

Morpheus came to a stop, jarring Sam forward in his seat.  _Do you have a better suggestion?  Shall I toss you at an enemy by the hem of your pants, perhaps?_

“Umm, no.  But I can still do some things.  I can…fire a gun.”  Sam winced, remembering the black eye he’d gotten as a kid from a small pistol’s recoil. 

_No,_ Morpheus growled.  The sound made Sam jump and sent goosebumps down his arms.  _You will NOT fight.  Not until you have learned to do so, and are cleared by both the angels and myself.  Until then, if I say ‘UP’ for any reason, I need you to listen._

Sam scowled.  “What, just obey without question?  Did Gabriel not tell you _anything_ about me?”

_I promise you, Sam—it is the only thing I will ask for obedience on.  Anything else is negotiable.  I do not make demands of my charges.  I am not here to dictate your actions and life.  If I say ‘UP’ it means there is imminent danger.  Your safety is my first concern._

Sam didn’t respond right away, and Morpheus resumed walking in silence.  The idea that so many people now considered his safety as their “first concern” was mindboggling.  Who, besides Dean, had ever cared about his safety over anything else?  The mission always took priority—they could worry over each other and their allies, but the mission came first.  _Sam_ was never the mission.

_You doing okay, pup?_  Morpheus asked in a soft voice.

“Yeah,” Sam lied.

_Hmm._   The canine glanced over his shoulder.  _You sure about that?_

Sam shrugged and tried to wipe his blood off the fur with his sleeve.  “I guess…oh, I don’t know.  A lot’s changed in a really short time.”

_Like what?_

“Like everything!” Sam said with a hollow laugh.  “Like, a month ago, we were fighting God’s sister while God made us pancakes and watched porn on Dean’s laptop.  Like, within a few days, I tried to take the Mark to lock Amara away again—the same Mark that corrupted Lucifer and Cain, and turned my brother into a demon.  And when that didn’t work, and God got His ass kicked, He gave up and it fell to me and Dean to figure out how to save the universe.  Again.  So, we shoved a soul-bomb into Dean, and he went off to detonate it in hopes of destroying the Darkness.  And the next thing I knew, some woman was in our bunker, banishing Cas and shooting me.  Then Chuck healed me, and I woke up a kid angel.  And that doesn’t include anything that’s happened _since_ then.!”

_Sounds like people are used to relying on you to solve dangerous problems._

“That’s the understatement of my life,” Sam mumbled.

_When did you start hunting?_

“Me personally?  I was nine when I finally convinced my dad to let me join him and Dean.”  He shook his head at the irony.  How long after that did he first runaway?  Three years?  Four?  “I’d gotten tired of being left behind for days and weeks at a time.”  Sam felt the muscles under him tense. 

_They left you alone for weeks?  As a child?_ Morpheus asked.  A dangerous edge hid under his calm.

“Well, I mean, I had money.  And I was a lot better at budgeting than Dean.”  Sam searched his mind for other reassurances to tell the canine.  “I had weapons, and knew how to safeguard a room with salt and symbols to keep the nasties out.  Plus, it was really only during the summer months.  Dad didn’t want people to see me walking to-and-from school and get suspicious.”  He cringed at his own words, realizing it sounded so much worse when said aloud. 

_Your father had no other options?  No friends he could let you stay with until he returned?_

“Umm, sometimes we stayed at Bobby’s house.  But he and dad got into a fight, and we didn’t see him again until we were adults.  And once in a while we went to Pastor Jim’s place.  But it always depended on where we were when a hunt came up.” 

Sam remembered trying to make similar arguments to his dad, but they’d never ended well.  John’s stubborn pride kept him from letting others know just how often his boys were left alone for the sake of a hunt.  And he didn’t want his boys to grow reliant on others to take care of them.  He’d said so often enough.

_Was there no one responsible for your protection?_

“Dean,” Sam answered automatically. 

_And how old was he when he assumed that role?_

For a moment, Sam couldn’t answer.  The words stuck in his throat.  He stared at his own tiny hands, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be the main caregiver to an infant when he still struggled with doorknobs and shirt buttons.  Swallowing hard, he managed to say, “Four.  Azazel killed my mom when I was six months old, and Dean was four.”

Morpheus stayed silent the rest of the way.

* * *

Dean burst out laughing when he saw Sam.  The kid was riding— _fucking riding_ —the damn dog like it was his personal steed.  His laughter caused everyone else around the firepit to turn around.  But only Mary laughed with him.

Gabriel’s smile faded to a frown as he scrambled to his feet.  Raphael and Castiel soon followed with equally concerned looks.  Their lack of hilarity made Dean wipe the tears from his eyes and study the slow-moving figures.

Then, he saw the streaks of red shining bright against the white fur, and his stomach dropped.

“What the hell happened?” he yelled as he sprinted toward them, gun already in his hand.  Images of creatures attacking them in the woods flashed before his eyes.

Sam gave him a sheepish smile.  “I tripped.”

“You _tripped?_ ” Dean asked incredulously.  He tucked the gun back into his pants.  “Did you land in a pit of spikes?  Are you both hurt?  Jesus, that’s a lot of blood for a little trip, Sam!”

A rush of wings announced Gabriel and Raphael’s presence, both archangels flying to get there faster.  They flanked Sam, each taking a side to check over for injuries.  Dean heard footsteps behind him, and saw Mary and Castiel running to join the group.

“Guys, I’m fine,” Sam insisted, pushing away their hands.  “I wasn’t paying attention and tripped over a tree root while jogging.  I just skinned my knee and hands.  That’s all, I swear!”

Gabriel turned to Morpheus with an eyebrow raised.  The dog nodded, confirming the story.  The others all sighed, relaxing with the knowledge that no attack had occurred.  But Dean wasn’t satisfied.

“Why didn’t you call us?” he demanded.  “Did you even have your phone on you?”

“My phone?  Seriously, Dean?”  Sam shook his head.  “No, I didn’t have a phone with me.  Because it doesn’t fit in fucking baby-pockets!  I can barely _hold_ my phone.  And I didn’t need to call you—I wasn’t in danger.  I’d have walked back if Morpheus hadn’t insisted on carrying me.”

Dean pulled his own cell phone out, and opened the ‘notes’ app to make a list.  “Alright, so first things first—you need a new, smaller phone.  That’s easy enough.  Next, maybe we could look at sewing bigger pockets into your clothes.  Or get you one of those mini-backpacks to carry essentials like a phone, and a damn first aid kit since you can’t do anything without injuring yourself.”

“Morpheus,” Sam leaned down to whisper into the canine’s ear, “can you bite him for me?”

Dean scowled.  “Fine.  Forget the backpack.  You’re getting a neon fanny-pack.”

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, “please stop.  I’m fine, okay?”

Dean studied his brother closely.  He saw past the bloody scrapes and torn clothes, and focused on the bright pink cheeks plastered with sweat-drenched hair.  In fact, Sam’s clothes were soaked as well.  He took a deep, calming breath.  “Okay.  We’ll put the phone and pocket thing on hold.  But can you tell me why you’re soaking wet?  I mean, it’s freezing out here, dude, and you look like you’ve been swimming.”

Sam huffed out a laugh.  “I was running.”

“Running?” Mary asked, startling Dean.  He’d almost forgotten the others were there.  “You ran so much that you sweat through several layers of clothes?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam hunched down in a way that set off Dean’s ‘little-brother’ alarms, “I’m supposed to start training, right?  I was just trying to get warmed up.  Besides, this new body is completely out of shape—I’ve lost all my muscle mass and stamina.  I gotta start somewhere.”  He ended with another shrug. 

“Training?”  Mary turned on the archangels.  “I thought you were just going to teach him to control his grace, and stuff about angel-history!”

Gabriel put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide with the same surprise she was projecting.  “Whoa there, Momma!  That’s all we _are_ going to teach him—how to control his grace and wings.  And Raphael brought Sam those books to read at leisure.  He’s not gonna give the kid pop-quizzes or anything.”

Raphael rested a hand on Gabriel and Mary’s shoulders, quietly gaining their attention.  “Perhaps we can discuss our plans in detail while I tend to Samuel’s injuries.  The cuts look superficial, but painful, and I do not think we should delay their treatment for the sake of this argument.”

All eyes returned to Sam who remained hunched over on Morpheus’ back.  Dean saw the way his brother’s legs trembled from the strain of keeping a tight hold around the canine.  Sighing, he stepped to Sam’s side and held his arms out in offering.  “Come on, dude.  Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“I can walk,” Sam muttered without looking up.

“You can barely sit up, Sammy,” Dean insisted. 

Sam leaned forward and grasped Morpheus’ fur with his injured hands before sliding shaky legs to the ground.  His knees gave out the second his feet touched down, but Sam stubbornly kept himself upright by not letting go.  Morpheus didn’t even grunt as his fur was pulled.

“Sam—” Dean started, but was cut off when Mary pushed past him.  She leaned down and wrapped an arm around Sam’s middle, pulling him up toward her. 

Immediately, Sam began fighting the hold.  “I _said_ I can walk!  Damnit, Dean, put me down!” he yelled, kicking and elbowing angrily against the body behind him.  Mary calmly let him as she stood up, her son secured against her despite his wild flailing.  Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing

“Stop that right now!” Mary scolded, and the kid froze at the sound of her voice against his ear.  “You’re going to hurt yourself worse.”

She turned around and Dean grinned at his brother’s shocked face.  Hazel eyes begged for rescue, but Dean just shook his head.  “Should have let me help you _before_ throwing yourself to the ground and almost collapsing.”

Mary expertly spun Sam around in her arms so they faced each other, and sat him on her hip.  “Come on,” she said, walking toward the firepit, “let’s get you cleaned up.  Raphael, can you fix his pants too, or do we need to grab him some new clothes from inside?”

“I can fix them,” the Healer reassured.

Sam sat awkwardly in her arms.  His hands were curled against his chest like he didn’t know what else to do with them, and his body remained stiff.  He wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

Mary gently lowered him onto a blanket and ruffled his hair.  “My goodness, Sammy,” she said with a smile, “you got a serious pout going on there.”

Sam glowered down at his hands, and Dean could see his jaw clenching dangerously tight.  “I’m not pouting.  I’m frustrated.”

“O-kay!”  Dean said, patting her on the shoulder and pulling her away from his close-to-exploding brother.  He continued in a whisper as they made room for the angels, “We should probably tone it down before he Force-chokes us.”

Mary grimaced, taking in her youngest’s tense form, and nodded.  Together they stood and watched the archangels try to fuss over Sam.  “Try” being the operative word.  “Did he hurt himself this much last time he was a kid?” she asked in a low voice.

“Not really.  Sam wasn’t a clumsy kid, and Dad taught us to control our bodies pretty early.  I think this,” he gestured toward his brother, “is more about Sam trying to do the things he could as an adult.”

Dean felt Castiel sidle up close to him, their shoulders brushing.  “Your brother is impatient to regain his physical abilities.”

“Thanks for the newsflash, Cas.”  Dean nudged him with an elbow.  “Try telling us something we don’t know.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in thought.  “Sam thinks that Morpheus should sleep in his larger form on the bed with us.”

“What?!” Dean yelled, gaining everyone’s attention. 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “You guys okay over there?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Fine!  We’re all fine,” Dean’s voice cracked.  He cleared his throat and watched as Raphael tried to coax a reluctant-Sam into showing them his palms.   “You want us to go get started on some lunch or something?”  Standing around was never his thing, and it didn’t seem to be helping Sam’s mood any to have everyone staring at him. 

“That would be great!”  Gabriel gave them a relieved smile.

“Come on, you two,” Dean muttered, grabbing each of their elbows, “let’s show the Master Chef how good Winchesters can be in the kitchen.”

* * *

Raphael felt his own relief echo Gabriel’s as the humans left with Castiel. 

Samuel was too agitated for an audience.  His injuries were minor, but his grace was rolling restlessly through his body and wings.  Raphael didn’t know the source of the fledgling’s emotional turmoil, but it eased slightly as the others walked away. 

“ **May I please see your palms now, Samuel?** ”  The Healer held his own hand out and patiently waited. 

“Why do you have to heal every little scrape?” Samuel asked instead.  “Won’t my body need to rebuild its resistance to things like germs?  It can’t do that if you bathe me in hand sanitizer and magically heal every bump.”

“ **I do not entirely understand how your body works,** ” Raphael confessed.  “ **Angels have only ever had physical form when they inhabited a human vessel.  But you are unique—your body is part of your true-form.  As such, I do not wish to test its capabilities with fighting infection.** ”

Samuel finally looked up to meet his eyes.  “So, I won’t accidentally leave my body if I sneeze too hard or something?”

Gabriel exploded with laughter at the unexpected question.  Raphael smacked his brother with a wing, toppling him into a pile of pillows, and refocused on Samuel.  “ **No, you should safely remain in your body no matter what.** ”  He wiggled his fingers, reminding the boy that he still needed to look at his injuries.  With a sigh, Samuel reluctantly uncurled his arms and allowed the Healer access to the torn skin.  “ **Have you ever felt like you were leaving your physical body?  Since your change, I mean.** ”

Samuel nodded, glancing at Gabriel.  “Once.  When Shepard blasted Gabriel and Castiel away with that egg-looking thing.”

Gabriel stopped laughing, and settled in behind the boy.  “I never asked how that affected you, Sam.”  He combed his fingers through the sweaty clumps of curls, using a touch of grace to dry them.  Then, he scratched his way down Samuel’s back, drying the clothes before starting to work on his wings. 

“It…I guess it felt like something was pulling me in two directions.”  He gave a half-shrug.  “I don’t know how to describe it.  But it hurt, and I couldn’t move for a long time afterwards.”

Morpheus padded over and flopped down next to them.  _Was that the angel-banishing device you told me about, Gabrieloki?_

“Yeah,” Gabriel answered in a tight voice.   “I was hoping it hadn’t affected you since you had no wings.”

“Is that how banishing works?  By affecting the wings?”

“ **Mostly.  It is a complicated process.** ”  Raphael brushed his thumbs over the scraped skin, carefully knitting the flesh back together.

“Think of it like an EMP for grace,” Gabriel explained.  “The blast goes off, and it short-circuits all the signals.  The wings essentially banish themselves because all the pathways get messed up and the grace runs wild in the wrong directions.”

“Oh.  That…doesn’t sound fun.” 

Raphael tapped on the boy’s leg, and was pleased when he straightened them out without hesitation.  “ **So, tell me Samuel—why do you believe running is necessary to your training?** ”  He tried to keep his tone casual, but felt the tiny body tense anyway.

“ **I…** ” Samuel started, then paused, looking lost.  The switch to Enochian had Raphael on instant alert though—it usually indicated a highly vulnerable state in the child that occurred unconsciously.  “ **I not know.** ”

“ **Hmm,** ” Raphael hummed, considering how best to draw an answer from him.  “ **What do you think our training will entail?** ”

Samuel brought his healed hands together, rubbing the left palm roughly with his other thumb.  “ **Grace…exercise?  How to fly.  How to fight.** ”

Raphael’s fingers twitched and he heard Gabriel take a sharp breath.  “ **You think we are going to train you in combat?** ”

“ **Maybe.  Defend?** ”  The boy seemed to recognize that he’d upset them on some level.  He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and to Morpheus before looking at Raphael again with a frown.  “ **You not teach defend?** ”

“ **Defense,** ” Raphael gently corrected his Enochian.  “ **I will only teach you to use _defense_ once you are able to master flight.  Flying will be your best defense anyway.  And we never teach combat to those as young as yourself.** ”

“ **You know I fight,** ” he insisted, digging deeper into his palm with his thumb.

Before Raphael could intervene, Morpheus stretched his massive head forward and nosed at the little hands.  _Easy there, pup.  Healer-angel just fixed those.  Do they itch?_ Samuel shook his head without speaking, but stopped the familiar gesture in favor of petting the canine’s head. 

Raphael breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Morpheus’ presence helped ease the boy from the harmful habit.  “ **I know you have fought a great many battles in your lifetime, but that is not expected of you anymore.** ”

Samuel scoffed at his reassurances.  “ **What expected not matter!** ”

“ **Why?** ” Raphael asked.  The boy rolled his eyes, but the archangel gently grasped his chin and held it until Samuel looked at him.  “ **Why does it not matter what is expected of you?** ”

“ **Because it _is_ expected!  It _always_ expected.  Even...**” he groaned, frustrated, and pushed Raphael’s hands off his face, “ **I try leave, it follow.  I never not need fight!** ”

“ **You have tried to leave hunting, but it follows you?** ”  Raphael clarified. 

“ **Yes!** ” Samuel said emphatically, nodding hard enough to send his now-dried curls bouncing across his face. 

“ **And you do not trust that we will protect you?** ”  Gabriel asked with a hint of sadness. 

“ **I-it is not trust!** ” Sam rushed to explain.

_It is the fact that enemies tend to find you no matter what you do, and you will not feel safe until you can fend for yourself.  It wouldn’t matter if you were surrounded by an entire army of protectors because your enemies are crafty and have done the impossible already._ Morpheus licked at the boy’s arm, and Samuel’s entire body relaxed with the knowledge that someone understood. 

“ **Yes,** ” Samuel whispered.

Gabriel smoothed down the ruffled wings.  They would need a full grooming session at some point in the day, but it would interfere with the conversation if Samuel was too loopy on grace to think straight.  “ **How about we start you on the basics first.  Then, we can work our way up from there.** ”

“ **But…!** ”

“ **No buts!** ”  Gabriel laughed, and mussed Samuel’s hair.  “ **After all, you will not be able to do much self-defense if you fly straight into a wall and knock yourself out.  Right?** ”

Samuel nodded, resigned to accepting the angels’ conditions.

“ **Good,** ” Gabriel said.  Then, he turned to Raphael and continued privately, _I think we’re gonna have to keep an eye on this one.  He’s not going to let this go without a fight._

Raphael gave a slight nod.  _Then it is a good thing we both have experience with stubborn siblings._


	3. And So, Become Yourself

Lunch was a rowdy affair, full of laughter and joking.  Dean led the kitchen effort, teaching Castiel and Mary how to make his famous burgers.  Gabriel conceded that they were the best he’d ever tasted, and Morpheus seconded the opinion with a growl as he wolfed it down.

The tension of the morning melted away as Sam tore through his own burger.  Running always made him ravenous, and he hadn’t been this hungry since he’d woken up from the massive healing session with Raphael.  Plus, eating meant he didn’t have to talk, and that was just fine with him.  Sam relaxed into the playful atmosphere without feeling like he had to add to it.

Gabriel cleaned the kitchen with a snap.  “Alright, lovely humans.  I’m claiming the next few hours for some angel maintenance out by the fire.  You are welcome to join us, but I suspect it might be a bit boring.”

Dean made a face.  “No, thanks.  I’ll be in the garage with Baby.  She needs maintenance, too.”

“I’ll join you, if that’s okay,” Mary said. 

Dean looked startled for a second, then grinned.  “You know anything about cars?”

Mary raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.  “I was married to a mechanic for a number of years, you know.  I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Awesome,” Dean said softly to himself.  He caught Sam’s eyes.  “You good, Sammy?”

Sam gave a nod.  Even if he wasn’t okay, he didn’t want Dean and their mom watching.  Grooming was an awkward enough affair without an audience.  “I’m sure I can manage to sit in the yard with only four super-powerful beings to keep me safe for a few hours without you.  Go, have fun with the car.”

“Try not to trip over any tree roots!” Dean called over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen.  Mary followed him, slapping Dean on the shoulder.

“Don’t forget your ‘car-washing shorts!’” Sam yelled back.

They heard a scuffle in the hall as Dean tried to turn back, but Mary made him keep walking with a firm, “No!  No more fighting, or we’re working on laundry instead of the car!”

Gabriel laughed.  “‘Car-washing shorts?’  Do I want to know?”

“No, you really don’t,” Sam said, shuddering dramatically. 

“Does Cassie know about them?” Gabriel asked in a loud whisper, nudging Sam toward the door. 

Sam looked over in time to see Castiel squint in confusion.  “Probably not, if he’s making that face.”

“I did not know Dean owned any shorts,” Castiel said, sounding bewildered by the idea.  “He has always vehemently opposed that form of clothing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, ‘the lady doth protest too much, methinks.’  You should have seen him when we went undercover at a school.  He posed as a P.E. teacher, strutting around in a pair of gym shorts.  And I’ll spare you a description of what he wears while washing the car.”

“I may just pop into the garage later.  With a camera.”  They walked out into the cool afternoon air, Gabriel cackling the whole way.  Morpheus ran circles around them in his tiny-form, yipping and tripping and rolling the whole way.

As they approached the firepit, Sam’s stomach twisted, and he wished he hadn’t eaten so much.  He didn’t know what to expect from these “more involved grooming” sessions.  Grooming already seemed pretty involved—complete with constant touching and invasive grace. 

Sam settled onto his pillow.  His nerves kicked up a notch when the archangels sat on either side of him.  Castiel toed off his shoes and sat in front of Sam, looking as uncertain as Sam felt.  Morpheus climbed into the hollow between Sam’s crossed legs and rested his head on his ankle.

“ **Alright, Samuel,** ” Raphael began, setting a hand on Sam’s right shoulder, “ **I think we should discuss what you can expect from these sessions before we begin.** ”

Sam nodded in agreement, glancing up at the Healer through unruly bangs.  He pushed his hair back so he could see better.  “ **Yes, please.** ”

Raphael smiled.  “ **As you know, fledglings raised in Heaven would not grow wings until they are much older than you.  They would already have centuries of experience using their grace and be able to shape their wing’s pathways for flight themselves.  However, you are unique, and so we must improvise.** ”

Sam made a face, wishing that he could be “normal” for once in his life.

“Hey, now,” Gabriel said, bopping Sam’s nose gently with a finger, “none of that.”

“What?” Sam scratched his nose.

Gabriel frowned knowingly.  “I know what you’re thinking.”

“You’re reading my mind?” Sam asked, outraged.

“No.  I don’t need to,” Gabriel scoffed.  “I know that face.  Let me just say this—yes, you are unique.  But you are not the _only_ unique angel.  Each archangel is unique.  The first seraphs were unique.  Same with the cherubs and cupids and all the other ranks.  Each new form of angel came with their own challenges, and we all had to learn as we went.  Angels aren’t manufactured on an assembly line—even when we reached the tenth generation of a rank, we’d still have special cases who didn’t respond to training or healing techniques the same as their siblings.  Just look at Cassie!”

Sam saw the seraph sit up, unprepared for the sudden shift of attention.

“What about me?” Castiel asked.

“You were part of the same generation as Uriel and Balthazar, weren’t you?” Gabriel asked, and Castiel nodded.  “Well, there you go!  Three seraphs—all completely different from each other.  Uriel loved discipline and orders.  You kept mostly to yourself, but asked questions incessantly to learn more.  And Balthazar got into constant trouble with his explorations and sass, even as a little thing.”

Raphael chuckled, making Sam turn toward him again.  “ **Gabriel is trying to say that we are used to adjusting our methods to suit the circumstances.  You need not feel singled out or alone.  Being unique is perhaps not as unique as it seems.** ”

Sam blushed and nodded.  Their words made sense, and chipped away at the feeling that he was a freak among angels.  Gabriel ruffled his hair—a gesture that was becoming more common as days went by.  Sam swatted his hand away.

“ **Good.  Now, as I was saying, we must improvise how we proceed.** ”  Raphael’s hand rubbed the back of Sam’s neck, encouraging the muscles to relax.  “ **You do not have enough control over your grace to build the pathways for your wings, so I will do it for you.** ”

“ **How?** ” Sam asked.

“ **I will use my own grace to shape the basic passages—the ‘feathers,’ if you will.  It may take a few days, and we will teach you control exercises between each session.  It should be enough to get you started.  You will take over the process under our guidance as your control grows stronger.** ”  Raphael’s hand dropped down to Sam’s wings, pressing into the pressure point at the base that made them flatten across his back like a shawl.  “ **We will start with a thorough grooming before I begin shaping them.  Are you ready?** ”

Sam glanced at each of them.  Gabriel shifted on his pillow so he was situated more behind Sam than next to him.  Castiel looked intrigued by the process, but seemed content to watch until directed to do something different. 

“ **Okay,** ” Sam finally consented.

Both archangels worked in tandem, taking their time to groom the small wings.  Raphael told him stories of Heaven—of how the first fledglings came to be, and his own role in nurturing them.  Gabriel added commentary, usually involving the young, panicked archangels trying to sort through unexpected mishaps. 

Sam listened in awe, imagining the newly-built halls filled with tiny grace-beings.  It was easy to picture a flustered Raphael running behind squealing children who were egged on by a playful Gabriel.  But he heard what they were careful not to describe as well—Michael and Lucifer’s place in those early days. 

When they finished, Raphael explained that he would begin shaping basic pathways.  “ **Gabriel, I want you to watch so you can mirror what I do on the other wing.** ”

With their grace already intertwined with Sam’s own, it was easy to feel Gabriel’s uncertainty. 

“ **Are you sure?  I am not as experienced in grace-work as you are, brother.** ”

Raphael just nodded.  “ **You are experienced enough.  And you are a fast learner when you set your mind to it.  Besides, this is not exactly an established technique.  We are both learning as we go.** ”

“Wow,” Sam muttered, looking at Castiel, “way to inspire confidence in your guinea pig.”

“And you are the guinea pig, right?” Castiel asked with a knowing smile.

“Yup,” Sam said, trying not to let his nervousness show.

“Hush,” Gabriel teased, putting a finger over Sam’s lips, “guinea pigs don’t talk.”

Sam felt the difference as soon as Raphael started.  He hissed as the Healer’s grace dug deeper past the surface, sculpting the mass of energy and giving it form.  Gabriel quickly caught on to what Raphael was doing, and began work on the left wing.

If grooming was like hair-brushing, then building pathways was like hair-braiding.  Having sections of his wing pulled into tight bundles was uncomfortable.  It tugged painfully at his spine and stomach. 

“Sorry,” Gabriel murmured when Sam’s breath hitched on a particularly harsh tug.

Castiel held out his hands.  Sam took them, grateful for the support.  The seraph continued the storytelling, albeit in his own awkward way, when it became apparent that the archangels were too focused to talk.  Most of his tales were of mundane things, and he usually ended up switching stories before he reached the end of one. 

But Sam just listened to the sound of his voice, letting the deep tones wash over him and distract him from the discomfort. 

By the time they were done, Sam was exhausted.  His wings felt raw, and his muscles were sore from trying to keep still.  “I think my legs are asleep,” he said, fighting a yawn.

“I think the rest of you is almost asleep, too,” Gabriel said when he shifted around to face him.  “Come on.  Let’s get you inside.  You can take a nap before dinner.”

“I don’t need naps,” Sam grumbled, even though he wanted nothing more than to curl up where he was and do just that.

“Absolutely,” Gabriel pretended to agree.  “Grab Morpheus for me.”

“Wha-?” Sam asked, rubbing his itchy eyes.

Instead of explaining, Gabriel just scooped up the sleeping canine and tucked him inside Sam’s hoodie.  He rearranged Sam’s arms so they were wrapped around the tiny bundle.  “Okay, up you go,” was all the warning he gave. 

Gabriel got one arm under Sam’s knees, and picked him up bridal-style.  Sam didn’t have the energy to properly protest.  He settled for a frustrated growl as he was pulled against the archangel’s chest. 

Raphael chuckled from behind them.  “Yes, you are very fierce.  I am certain you will become even more intimidating as you grow older.”

Sam tried to twist around to scowl at the Healer, but Gabriel tightened his hold.  “Stop that—both of you.  Raphael, aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?  Don’t antagonize him!”

“Consider this payback for centuries of your ‘helpful’ contributions to my care of fledglings in Heaven.”

Gabriel responded with his usual snark, but Sam only heard his tone.  The words grew distant and fuzzy as his eyes closed.  Each step across the lawn made Sam feel heavier.  He was asleep before they reached the bunker.

* * *

They formed a routine.

After breakfast in the morning, Sam would go for a run with Morpheus.  That usually ended with Morpheus running and Sam riding.  It was Sam’s favorite part of the day, once he got over the weirdness of riding a dog like a horse. 

Morpheus was a patient, but firm, instructor.  He made racing around the yard and through the woods fun.  Sometimes, he would test Sam’s reflexes by springing an _Up, pup!_ midday on him.  He expected Sam to react instantly, and it only took one “not now” for him to learn that Morpheus meant business.  An hour-long lecture and his entire hair washed by dog-tongue taught him to not question Morpheus’ seriousness.

Lunch was now delegated to Dean, Mary, and Castiel to prepare.  Dean liked to make it a competition to see if he could outdo whatever Gabriel was planning for dinner.  As a result, lunch quickly became an extravagant affair with hours of research and effort going into it each day.

Sam worried it was a sign that Dean was getting bored with not hunting.  But Castiel assured him quietly one day that he had never seen Dean laugh as much as when they were in the kitchen together.  Even Mary flourished with her new-found purpose as part of the “kitchen crew.”

After lunch, the angels groomed Sam and kept working to form his “feathers.”  The first few day, he fell asleep immediately afterwards.  But by day five, he was able to stay awake. 

That evening, the angels started Sam on meditating and learning to actively control his grace.  Raphael guided him through the exercises.  His deep voice, resonating through Sam’s body and mind, was as effective at inducing a trance as their grooming sessions. 

Sam learned to push and pull his grace throughout his body.  He formed a ball of energy between his palms large enough for even Dean to see—on his very first try!  He got so excited, it burst, shattering all the lights in the room. 

Gabriel cried tears of joy, and hurried to reassure a panicked Sam that he was proud.  He snapped away the shards of glass and made late-night hot chocolates for everyone to celebrate.  The next day, Mary took over lunch-planning and made an Asian salad with chicken, almonds, and oranges just for him.

That afternoon, Dean tried to make Castiel skip out on the pathway-building session.  Thanksgiving was the next day, and the hunter had decided that the humans would take charge of the meals for their first holiday together as a family.  But Castiel remained insistent—Sam’s wings took precedent over some date marking colonization and genocide of a native race. 

“Fine,” Dean snapped, pushing Castiel out of the kitchen, “but that means Sammy has to help us in the kitchen tomorrow.  He’s still part-human, and this is our first holiday with Mom.”

“No problem, Deano!” Gabriel called out as he ushered the angels safely away.  “We’ll take a break tomorrow for feasting and lounging.”

“Good!” Dean yelled after them.

Sam walked in silence to their place by the fire.  He’d forgotten all about Thanksgiving.  They rarely celebrated Christmas most years—Thanksgiving less so.  It hadn’t occurred to him that their Mom’s return would change that.  But it did.  It changed everything.

“You doing alright there, Sam-a-lam?” Gabriel asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, forcing a smile, “just lost track of the days, I guess.”

“You have had a lot to deal with a while now,” Raphael pointed out.

“Understatement of the year,” Sam mumbled, but Raphael heard him if the gentle wing-tap to the back of his head was any indication.

“I think we’ll keep things light this afternoon,” Gabriel said as they took their usual seats.  “Just some grooming for right now.  Tonight, we’ll have you start building these pathways yourself.”

Sam nodded, petting Morpheus who laid across his ankles.  All their energy exercises had made him more sensitive to the other angels’ grace.  He’d begun to pick up what they were doing to his wings—see their intentions enough to anticipate their next steps.  He felt ready.

The archangels each took one wing.  Sam shivered as their grace poured over him.  He closed his eyes, drifting on the sensation.  Grooming always put him into a trance-like state now, and he was learning to enjoy it.

Energy tingled along the new appendages and down his spine.  He felt where the new “feathers” had formed kinks and twisted out of place.  It got easier to identify with each session, but it still sometimes boggled his mind to recognize anything about the things growing out of his back.

The archangels worked quickly, smoothing the disheveled grace into its proper place.  The tingling grew to an itch, and Sam felt something shift.  His consciousness expanded outward, connecting to the world around him.  He sat up straighter in surprise.  It hadn’t happened since that very first grooming with Gabriel—this sudden explosion of awareness beyond himself.

Sam sensed the archangels at his back, and the seraph at his front—like two suns and a moon in orbit around his own comet-sized self.  He gripped the pillow under him with both hands, trying to ground himself.  Then, he opened his eyes.

Castiel towered, a massive being of swirling blue light and rotating faces.  Black wings reflecting every imaginable color flared out to frame the ox head just as it was replaced with a lion.  Sam gasped in wonder, and heard the seraph echo him.

“ **What is wrong?** ”  Raphael’s voice rumbled like a quake within a mountain.

“ **Nothing** ,” Castiel replied, a whispered roll of thunder.  “ **Samuel’s eyes are open, as Gabriel calls it.  He is seeing me—seeing my true-form.** ”

“ **How you know?** ” Sam asked.  His voice sounded so small in his own ears.

“ **How _do_ you know,** ” Raphael gently corrected.

“ **How do you know?** ” Sam repeated, tempted to roll his eyes.  He refrained, not wanting the world to spin out of control. 

The lion head leaned forward, then shifted to be replaced by a man’s face.  It looked nothing like Jimmy Novak.  “ **Your eyes are glowing with grace.** ”

A recent memory, wrapped in pain and ice, rose unbidden to the surface of Sam’s mind. 

_“His eyes are glowing all bright and weird,” said a woman in disgust._

_“Oh? What color?”  Shepard’s voice sounded distant._

_“I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet.”_

Sam shivered again, and slammed his eyes shut. _Not now,_ he thought.  Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, sharp and freezing.  He wanted to wipe it away but his hands wouldn’t release the pillow. 

There were no pillows in that place.  He held onto it like a life-line.  Every muscle in his body seemed too tight, too stiff, too constricted to move.

“ **Samuel?** ” the thunder asked softly. 

Fingers brushed across Sam’s face, wiping through the sweat.  He shook his head and tried to will away the memories and voices.  Days had passed since _they_ last intruded on his thoughts—he’d hoped they were gone for good.

The hands moving over his wings paused but didn’t go away.

“ **What is wrong?** ” asked a howling wind.

“ **I do not know.** ”  The thunder moved closer.  Warm palms framed Sam’s face, thumbs smoothing his brows.  “ **Samuel?  Can you open your eyes for me?** ”

Sam pressed into the hands, wanting to crawl inside their warmth.  He forced himself to take slow breaths through his nose when his mouth refused to open.  Nausea threatened to make his lunch resurface.

Something moved over his legs.  A soft, wet tongue licked at his right wrist, tickling the skin.  _Relax, pup,_ Morpheus’ voice cut clearly through the storm of grace surrounding Sam’s senses.  _You’re safe with your family._

Heat flowed through the palms on his face, melting away the ice.  Sam sighed in relief as his muscles became pliant again.  He moved his right hand into the soft fur, and felt the tiny body twist under his fingers to keep licking him. 

“Okay,” said Gabriel, back to his usual vessel’s voice, “we’re done.” 

The archangels’ grace retreated from his wings, leaving his skin buzzing and warm.  Raphael massaged the tension in Sam’s neck.  Gabriel gently peeled Sam’s left hand off the pillow and held it between his palms, his thumb rhythmically rubbing against his pulse-point. 

“Sam,” Castiel whispered at close range, “can you open your eyes now?”

Taking another deep breath, Sam blinked.  Blue eyes filled his vision, but they were no longer swirling in grace-light.  He squinted against the afternoon sun, blinking a few more times until he adjusted. 

Castiel’s worried face came into focus—his vessel’s face remained stationary, without any animal heads waiting to rotate into its place.  The seraph smiled in relief.  He kept his hands on Sam’s face, using his fingertips to lightly scratch through the curls. 

“You okay, Samshine?” Gabriel asked quietly. 

“Y-yeah.” Sam’s voice cracked, still too tight to work properly. 

“What happened?” Castiel asked, taking his hands away and sitting back. 

“Nothing,” Sam answered too quickly.  His experience with the British Men of Letters was the last thing he wanted to discuss. 

“Samuel…” Raphael started, but Sam shook his head.

Rolling his shoulders, he tried to dislodge the archangel’s hand from his neck.  “I’m fine,” he insisted, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Raphael sighed and dropped his hand.  “Did something make you uncomfortable?  Did the grooming hurt or tug too hard anywhere?”

Sam’s hands tightened and he forced them to relax before he pulled Morpheus’ fur or Gabriel could comment.  “I said it was nothing.  I’m fine.”

“It was what I said,” Castiel admitted.  “You became very upset when I mentioned your eyes.”

“Cas, stop.  Please.  It was nothing.”  Sam refused to let _them_ disrupt his first honest-to-God holiday with his Mom. 

Gabriel inhaled sharply.  “The Brits,” he muttered, but Sam heard him and quickly turned in surprise.

“What?!”  How did Gabriel know that?  He’d promised he wasn’t reading Sam’s mind.

Gabriel winced.  “They talked about your eyes glowing, didn’t they?” he gently coaxed.  “After they’d drenched you in ice water and left you for the night.  Your grace kept you alive, working hard enough to make your eyes light up.”

Sam snatched his hand back and glared.  “How could you possibly…”

“We saw video.”  Gabriel glanced nervously at the others before settling his gaze on Sam.  “They recorded your time there on a laptop, and we recovered it from the blast.”

Sam’s mind went blank, then flew into overdrive.  He’d spent a week and a half trying to forget the whole experience, hoping he could just put it behind him.  But knowing that they had seen and heard everything was another story. 

He closed his eyes, rapidly flashing through images like photos in a catalogue.  Anger warred with humiliation as he let himself remember.  Had he been recorded the entire time, or just when the Brits were present?  Did the angels only witness the things done and said to him?  Or had they heard him whimpering in the dark, reciting the alphabet to himself?

“Sam,” Gabriel said, drawing him out of his thoughts.  The tone suggested he’d called Sam’s name more than once. 

Sam opened his eyes and took a steadying breath before looking to his left.  The gold in Gabriel’s eyes shimmered.  Sam thought it was grace at first, but then realized the archangel was holding back tears.  It made some of his anger deflate.

Gabriel continued in a quiet, shaky voice.  “I’m sorry I’ve upset you.  We weren’t trying to keep this from you, and we didn’t watch it to invade your privacy.”

“Then why?” Sam demanded.

“That first night we had you back, right after Raphael healed you, you had a nightmare.  Our grace was still wrapped around you, and we felt it all.  I-I needed to know what they did to you.  I was worried and angry and I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

Sam couldn’t even begin to process it all.  He knew they’d been worried.  But Gabriel had only been with them a couple weeks—how did he know Sam wouldn’t talk?   Sam’s need for “chick-flick” moments had been the running gag his entire life.  

There was one thing that stood out though, and Sam focused in on it.  “Angry?” 

Gabriel gave a watery laugh and scrubbed at his face.  “Yes, I was angry!  You had been taken from me—by a human, of all things.  And when I got you back, you were hurt and scared and I couldn’t do anything to take that away.  I couldn’t undo what they’d done to you.”

Sam nodded, understanding the helplessness of coming into a situation too late.  It happened all too often with him and Dean.  But in all their encounters with the archangel, before and after his resurrection, it was the one emotion Sam hadn’t truly witnessed.  Frustration and fear, yes, but not anger. 

Gabriel’s confrontation with Lucifer on the lawn that day was the closest he’d come to seeing the rage Sam knew all archangels carried.  But it had remained contained—biting words and snarky insults without actual blows.  Even Lucifer had behaved himself.

Sam was an expert on anger.  He knew the different forms and motivations.  Acting out of a sense of protectiveness and being filled to the brim with burning wrath were not the same thing.  What would push Gabriel to be truly angry—and what would happen to those who caused it?

“What could possibly be going through your mind right now, hmm?”  Gabriel’s voice startled Sam out of his thoughts.   

“Nothing,” Sam replied automatically.  Gabriel looked suspicious, but didn’t push him.  “Did everyone see it?”

“No, just us.  Your mom and brother know about it, but they have not watched it yet,” Raphael answered.

“I don’t want them to.”  Sam pushed himself to his feet, refusing all the hands that rushed to help. 

“Sam,” Castiel started in his “let’s think about this” voice. 

“No!  I’m serious.”  Dizziness made him sway, but he pushed it aside and focused on the wide blue eyes staring down at him.  “I didn’t even know they’d recorded me.  If I had, I would have made sure the damn thing was destroyed before walking out of there.  If you have questions, you can ask me—and _maybe_ I’ll answer.  W-what happened there was nobody’s business but mine, understand?”

Gabriel crouched down until they were eye-level.  Sam wanted to tell him to take his pity and shove it, but realized he didn’t see any pity.  He saw gold and steel.

“I understand this feels like a giant violation, and I should have told you about the tape sooner.  But you are wrong to think this isn’t my business.  First of all, those people had a powerful weapon of Heaven, and they knew how to use it—against _me._   If I hadn’t managed to grab Cassie on our way out of the atmosphere, he would have been lost to us until you were an adult again.  And maybe not even then.”

Sam swallowed hard, and glanced at Castiel.  The seraph was pale at the memory, and nervous to be brought into the conversation.  Fingers snapped in front of Sam’s face, and he jumped. 

Gabriel was not done.  “Second of all, you’re lucky you didn’t destroy that laptop.  It allowed me access to their system where there are thousands of files.  Information about angels, demons, pagan deities, creatures, and magics that even you Winchesters know nothing about.  Remember that man gloating about torturing an angel for months?  That’s _my_ brother.  _My business!_ ”

Tears stung Sam’s eyes, but he blinked them away.  He hadn’t even thought about Shepard’s mention of the angel they’d held prisoner.  That angel could still be captive, and Sam had just pushed that knowledge aside with all the other memories.

“Third of all,” Gabriel’s voice dropped lower, “you are a fledgling.  A child, by Heaven’s standards, and a member of my flock.  They took you from me.  They hurt you.  My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, _my business_.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”  The words slipped off Sam’s tongue by instinct.  He fought to control the emotions surging under the surface.  His throat burned from the effort, and his face felt like it was on fire.

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “Hey,” he said in a softer voice, “that’s not…”

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted out, failing to keep his breath from hitching halfway through.  “C-can I go now?”

The archangel sighed and looked like he wanted to say more.  Sam braced himself, waiting for a new onslaught.  Instead, Gabriel gave a sad smile and nodded. 

Sam backed away, passing the other two angels.  He couldn’t turn around—you never turned your back on an angry archangel.  Even if that angel was staring back with a look of devastation.

He made it two more steps before running into a wall of fur.  Morpheus had shifted unnoticed at some point.  Sam pressed against him, silently willing the canine to move.

Morpheus swung his massive head around to nose at Sam’s hair.  _Up, pup,_ he commanded as he lowered himself to the ground.

Sam grabbed the fur of his neck and swung a leg over his back without looking away from the angels.  He’d never been so grateful for their hours of practice.  The move was ingrained into muscle memory, and he barely shifted when Morpheus stood and trotted them away.

_Where do you want to go?_

The only place warm enough outside was by the fire, and Sam was done being under the watchful gaze of angels. 

“My room,” he whispered. 

He dismounted when they got to the top of the stairs inside the bunker.  Mary and Dean’s voices drifted through the war room from the direction of the kitchen.  Sam hoped to avoid them for now, not wanting to talk to anyone.

Morpheus followed Sam’s gaze, his ears perking up at the sound of the humans.  Understanding Sam’s unspoken wish, he shifted down again and allowed Sam to carry him through the halls.  The clacking of his claws would definitely blow their cover.

Sam tucked him inside his hoodie.  He chanced a quick detour into the library on the way, and grabbed two of the books from Heaven.  It wasn’t until they got to his room and closed the door that Sam felt safe.

Leaning against the solid wood, he gulped in air like he’d been drowning.  The books fell from his arms, crashing loudly to the ground.  He barely felt his knees give out, or his body slide down the door to sit on the floor.

Sam closed his eyes and let go, unable to control the panic or emotional storm anymore.  Too many memories competed for attention until he had no choice but to just let them play out.  Shepard’s fist and stick brought phantom pains to his long-healed body, and he pulled his knees up to ward against them. 

John’s voice crept in, raging over the pain, and Sam was powerless to fend off the words.  Arguments and lectures from a lifetime ago echoed in his ears.  _Buck up and quit crying!  You’re a hunter, not some sissy civilian.  Quit being a baby, or I’ll give you something to cry about._

He didn’t notice Morpheus climb out of his hoodie, or shift back into his large form.  All he saw was Gabriel’s cold face, claiming Sam as his own.  What did that mean?

Sam pressed his fists into his eyes, finally done riding out the blitz.  Something large and wet ran across his face and hands.  It took several passes before his brain could identify it as a tongue.  A nose joined the effort, rooting hard against his hands to dislodge them.  _Morpheus,_ he remembered.

It took a minute, but Sam managed to pull his arms back down and open his eyes.  He tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.  “Hey,” he sobbed, tears freely flowing.

Morpheus studied him in silence for a second.  Then, he huffed.  Hot air blew through Sam’s hair.  _Come on.  Let’s get you off this floor and into bed._

Sam grabbed hold of the canine’s neck, fatigue hitting him like a freight train.  Morpheus raised his head, pulling Sam to his feet.  Together, they walked to the bed Sam hadn’t slept in since the night before the kidnapping. 

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress.  It wasn’t as comfortable as the communal bed Castiel made, but it was familiar.  And someone had done him the courtesy of fixing the blankets and pillows back into place.  He pulled them up over his shoulder and pressed his face into the pillow, trying to smother the tears.

The bed suddenly dipped, almost causing him to roll completely over.  Sam snapped his head up in alarm and saw Morpheus had climbed up next to him.  That was new—the canine had only slept in the bed in his smaller form so far. 

Morpheus’ mouth opened in a wide, wolfish grin.  _The others will be less likely to approach the bed when they see me like this._ He settled down, instantly warming Sam with his body heat, and nuzzled his snout into the back of Sam’s hair.  _Go to sleep, pup.  Things always make more sense when we can think clearly._

Sam closed his eyes and shifted closer to the warm body, sleep already dragging him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been waaaay too long since the last chapter, but there are *reasons!*  
> The Character Ask game I started on Tumblr grew into such a success, I decided to DO what I've been waffling over--I created a sideblog dedicated exclusively to this series! All of which couldn't have been done without the help of @nathyfaith and @carryonmycobaltangel.  
> Come check it out: @spn-bythegraceofgod  
> It includes:  
> Asks answered by characters  
> Master FicList page, with side stories written by readers set within the BTGOG!verse  
> Characters page, including bios and pics  
> Prompt fics set within the BTGOG!verse  
> Fanart by readers  
> Moodboards  
> And hopefully more!!
> 
> I've got at least 30 more Asks to answer, so I'm gonna take a day or two to try and knock as many out as possible. They'll be posted here in the one-shot collection, "Ask and It Shall Be Given You," where the first 30 are already waiting for your viewing pleasure. 
> 
> Thanks so much for everyone's patience and understanding!!


	4. Because the Past is Just a Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR EXCESSIVE FLUFF AND FEELS!!  
> I should never go so long in between updates again.   
> Or write when I'm sick.  
> Because THIS is the result.  
> THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT!!  
> I LOVES YOU ALL <3<3<3

Dean remembered Heaven from his one time there during the Apocalypse.  Most of the experience was bittersweet, overshadowed by what he’d thought were Sam’s “best” memories.  But he knew exactly what it would look like if he were to return there now.

The kitchen overflowed with music and the lingering scent of breads and roasted chicken from previous meals.  Mary sat at the table across from him, making final additions to their Thanksgiving menu.  She hummed quietly along to “Whole Lotta Love” as she flipped through the pages of a recipe book. 

All that was missing was Sam and Castiel.  And the archangels.  And maybe the pillow-stealing dog. 

Dean grinned.  His family had grown so much in so short a time.  It felt like just yesterday that they’d almost lost Castiel to Lucifer’s possession.  Even when the Devil agreed to join their venture against Amara, Dean had feared the worst. 

He’d already seen the consequences of sharing a body with Lucifer.  Sam was still recovering years later.  Even if Castiel managed to reclaim his vessel and mind for himself, there was no way of knowing how much damage would be left behind.

And when the battle had ended, Dean could barely spare a glance for the broken God lying on the floor.  He only had eyes for Castiel.  And the relief that accompanied that gravelly voice saying, “Lucifer is gone,” had outshined the fact that God was dying.

Less than a week later, the world had not ended.  Sam and Castiel were safely by Dean’s side, along with Mary and an archangel.  And while things weren’t perfect per se, life had never been better. 

If _this_ wasn’t his Heaven, then he didn’t want to go.

“What?” Mary asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?” Dean shot back, still grinning.

Mary’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “You look like Christmas came early.”

“It did!”  He leaned back in his chair, not even trying to hide his glee.

She studied him for a second, and it only made him grin more.  “I guess it did,” she finally said, her eyes softening as she joined him in smiling.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, but they only added to Dean’s excitement.  The sound meant more of his family was about to join them.  Good—he had a list of things for Gabriel to go retrieve before morning, and he wanted Castiel’s opinion on their dessert choices.

One look at their faces and Dean felt his high spirits plummet.  Gabriel seemed upset, and Castiel shot a worried look down the hall before Raphael steered them into the kitchen.  Something was wrong.

“What happened?” he demanded, rising to his feet.  “Where’s Sam?”

Gabriel tried to answer, but shook his head and shrugged instead. 

The archangel’s obvious distress and lack of words made Dean’s stomach twist.  “Someone better explain now!” he said, marching toward the angels.  If he didn’t get an answer in thirty seconds, he would go in search of Sam without it.

“Samuel is in his room,” Raphael answered in a low tone.  “I believe he is asleep, and it is probably best he continue resting.”

Dean looked closely at each of them.  There was stress and strain etched into their faces, but no one was battle-ready.  He could only hope that their willingness to all part with Sam was a good sign. 

“What happened?” Dean repeated in a calmer voice. 

Castiel cleared his throat.  “Sam had a flashback during our grace work.”

“Lucifer?” Dean asked.

“The kidnapping,” Castiel said with a slight shake of his head.

“And?” Dean gestured for them to hurry up with the story.  “He’s had plenty of flashbacks.  What’s different about this one?”

“He learned about the recording,” Gabriel finally answered, “and that we’d seen it.”

“He…so?”  Confusion clouded Dean’s mind.  He and Sam had both been taken prisoner and tortured so many times it was practically routine.  And regardless of whether they were taken alone or together, they almost always treated each other’s injuries afterwards. 

This time, everyone had been present for the intense healing session and saw what those bastards did to Sam.  They’d even heard Sam recount parts of what had happened during the car ride home.  What was he missing?

“How about we sit down and you start from the beginning?” Mary suggested, taking Gabriel’s elbow and leading him to the table.  The others followed. 

Dean pushed the books aside, menu forgotten.  “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Gabriel frowned and stared, unseeing, at the table.  “Sam’s tried to avoid any discussion about what happened.  I think he believes it will fade away if he ignores it long enough.”

Dean snorted.  “Welcome to the Winchester coping method.”

Gabriel’s eyes snapped up to meet Dean’s gaze.  “Avoidance isn’t coping.”

“Says the guy who avoided his own family feuds for _how_ many centuries?”

“Again,” Gabriel’s chin raised up in determination, “it is _not_ the same as coping.  And yes, I would know.”

Dean scrubbed at his face.  “Okay, so Sam isn’t ‘coping’ with the kidnapping thing.  That still doesn’t tell me why you’re all freaking out.”

“I…” Gabriel’s confidence crumpled, his distress rising back to the surface, “We may have had an argument?  I’m not sure.”

“Sam tried to stab me with a fork at breakfast.  So, consider me a well-informed source when I say that arguments with my brother are a natural occurrence—the kid’s like a freaking thunderstorm.  Only now, he comes complete with actual lightning.”  Dean rolled his eyes, thinking fondly of their daily spats since childhood.  He stood and walked toward the coffee pot.  “He’ll stew about it for a while.  Him sleeping is a good sign—he’s always super cranky when he’s tired.  I’m sure he’ll wake up, mope a bit, and then apologize.”

“It’s not just what _he_ said,” Gabriel whispered.

Dean paused before pouring his coffee.  He didn’t bother adding any cream or sugar, preferring the bitter black liquid to accompany whatever the archangel was about to say.  Turning around, he stared at those gathered.  The three angels all looked uneasy.

“What did _you_ say, then?”

“Sam was angry—told me that what had happened was nobody’s business but his own.  I disagreed.”  Gabriel snapped and a plain hot chocolate appeared.  No foam or candy canes or glittery sugar. 

The sight made Dean’s stomach twist again.  “And?”

“And I may have been a little too enthusiastic in explaining why it was my business.  I just…I needed him to understand that he isn’t alone!  That he has people who care about him, and that we were all affected by his kidnapping.  And that watching that tape went beyond us needing to know what they’d done to him.”  Gabriel stood and began pacing.  “That man used one of Heaven’s strongest weapons and he bragged to your brother about torturing another angel for at least a year.  Those things are enough to guarantee at least a strike team.  Taking a fledgling was an act of war.  For Sam to tell me that these things are ‘none of my business’ is ludicrous!”

Dean moved closer and casually leaned against the island.  “And?”

“And what?” Gabriel asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged.  “All that sounds pretty reasonable.  In fact, those are the types of things Sam normally points out to me, so I can’t see him taking offense to any of them.  He might be embarrassed that he’d overlooked those things in his attempt at avoiding the whole incident, but I don’t think he’d disagree in the end.”

“Gabriel said Sam was _his_ child,” Castiel spoke softly from beside Raphael.

Dean sucked in a breath, but it felt like all the air had left the room.  “What did Sam say?”

Gabriel stopped pacing and winced.  “He called me ‘sir.’”

“Like, sarcastically?” Dean asked, hopeful.

“No.”

Dean set down his coffee mug.  His brain felt sluggish, but the coffee was souring his stomach.  He suddenly wanted whiskey—a rare urge these days. 

When was the last time he’d heard Sam call someone “sir” and meant it?  He couldn’t remember if it had ever slipped out when addressing Bobby, and saying it to law enforcement was part of their act.  John was the only one who’d insisted on the moniker. 

“Then what?” Dean croaked.  “What did he do after that?”

Gabriel turned away from them and remained silent.  Dean looked at the others, expecting an answer from someone.  Castiel exchanged a silent word with Raphael before nodding.

“He returned to the bunker with Morpheus,” Castiel explained, “but he was not in a good state of mind.  He seemed…scared.  Of us.  Morpheus carried him back.”

Dean sighed.  Chuck Almighty—how did they manage to twist so many of Sam’s major issues into a single conversation and let it end badly?  Did the angels even understand?  Gabriel’s attitude suggested at least a shallow grasp of the problem, but Dean doubted it went much further.

“Right.  Mom, do you care to go over the stuff we need for tomorrow with these guys?  Some of these dishes need to be prepped tonight,” Dean asked over his shoulder as he went to the fridge and rummaged around.  He knew Sam wouldn’t come out for dinner, and there was no way he was letting the kid go all night without food or water.  He’d seen the physical effects that grace-stuff had on him—he’d be dehydrated and shaking come morning.  As an afterthought, he grabbed the leftover burger patties for the dog. 

“Sure, sweetie,” Mary said.  He heard her concern, but he knew she wasn’t who Sam needed right now.  “Are you going…?”

“Yep, you know where to find me.”  Dean shoved the various containers and water bottles into a tote bag.  He nudged Gabriel with his shoulder on his way out, startling the archangel.  Wide eyes met his, and Dean nudged him again even harder.  “Buck up, short-stuff.  If you didn’t want a kid with Pandora-level issues, then you shouldn’t have taken in a bunch of Winchesters.  Now, get over there and help mom with that grocery list.  I need apples for the pies.  And don’t you dare bring me Red Delicious—they may as well be painted potatoes.  I want Mutsu or Jonagold, understand?”

“Aye aye, captain!”  Gabriel saluted and tried to smile.  “And Dean?  I’m sorry if I overstepped any lines.  I really wasn’t trying to upset him.  And I definitely never want him to fear me.”

“I know,” Dean said, nudging the archangel one more time. 

He made his way to Sam’s old room, rehearsing what to say.  Winchesters were a volatile bunch.  But Sam easily forgave—sometimes, too easily. 

Dean lightly tapped on the door.  It was met with silence, and he figured Sam was still asleep. He opened the door as quietly as possible and froze. 

A mountain of white fur with eyes bluer than Castiel’s stared at him from the bed.  The lips curled back, revealing rows of sharp teeth.  The effect was not entirely welcoming.

“I brought food,” Dean whispered, “and I wanted to be here when he woke up.”  He mentally cursed.  Since when did he ask a dog for permission to see his brother?  Yet, looking at them now, it felt like the right thing to do.

Dean had thought of the canine as a bodyguard who hung out in case of an attack—not one who guarded the kid’s sleep after an emotional blowout.  But seeing Sam curled into the mess of fur, one massive front paw slung over his tiny back, Dean understood the role extended beyond physical protection.

Morpheus watched him step into the room and carefully close the door.  Dean stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, unsure how to proceed.  He’d never been alone with Morpheus without a translator, and he hadn’t counted on the dog being awake. 

After a minute of watching Dean shuffle his feet, the canine nodded his head toward the desk.  Dean quickly sat down, clutching the tote in his lap.  At least he wasn’t stuck standing in the middle of the room until Sam woke up.

Morpheus huffed, and Dean looked up in time to see bright blue eyes roll in exasperation. 

“What?” Dean whispered defensively.  Surely, the dog didn’t think he was going to just leave the food and go. 

The eyes focused on the tote bag as a giant tongue licked across monstrous lips.  Then, Morpheus looked pointedly at the desk.  When Dean didn’t move right away, the canine repeated the gesture, eyes flicking between the desk and the bag.

“You…want me to put the food on the desk?” Dean asked, feeling stupid.  Morpheus nodded.  “Okay.  Sure.”  Dean pushed a pile of books to the side and tried to keep the bag from crinkling too loud as he followed the instructions.  _I’m following instructions from a dog.  This is my life now._

Morpheus grinned, and Dean answered with a tight smile.  He hoped Sam would wake up soon and end the awkwardness.  _Where’s Cas when I need him?_ he wondered, rubbing sweaty palms on his pant legs. 

Another huffed breath drew Dean’s attention to the bed.  This time, Morpheus nodded at him, then swung his head toward the other side of the bed.  Dean hoped he understood the gesture.

“You want me to sit on the bed?  Next to Sammy?”

Morpheus nodded again, still grinning.

Dean was torn between relief and fear.  On the one hand, he wanted to be closer to his brother—needed to feel his breathing and know he was okay.  On the other hand, he’d be putting himself next to a pony-sized magical wolf with a mouth that could easily fit around his head. 

Sam shifted in his sleep.  Dean watched, barely breathing, as his brother’s fingers pulled on the tufts of fur and he burrowed closer into the canine’s chest.  Morpheus lifted his paw off the boy’s back, letting him move unencumbered, then replaced it when he settled. 

The gentleness always took Dean by surprise.  No matter how many times he’d watched the two interact in the past week, he couldn’t shake his instinctive fear of the creature.  Size and form didn’t seem to matter—tiny magical dogs were just as dangerous as giant ones.

Morpheus gave a low whine, and Dean looked away from Sam to find literal puppy-dog eyes turned his way.  The tail thumped against the bed as the shifter carefully moved to nose at the far pillow without disturbing Sam. 

Dean sighed.  There was no defense against such a plea.  _Damn you, Sammy!  It’s your fault I can’t deny looks like that,_ he silently cursed as he walked around the bed. 

There wasn’t much room.  Dean cursed his brother again—this time, for only having a full-sized bed.  But he squeezed himself onto the edge and carefully scooted over until he was certain he wouldn’t fall off.  _Cozy._ He didn’t know what to do with his arms, so he kept them crossed over his chest. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes.  Dean stared at his feet to avoid the up-close view of the shifter’s face.  But it meant he also couldn’t see Sam, and the urge ate away at him with each passing second until he gave in. 

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he was relieved to see Morpheus’ head resting on the pillow and facing the far wall.  It didn’t look comfortable, and Dean suspected it was to give him some privacy.  Finally, he looked down at Sam.

From across the room, Sam had just seemed like a sleeping lump.  But now, Dean could see the tension in the boy’s shoulders.  And the dried tracks of tears on his face.

All fear of the dog disappeared at the sight.  Dean gently brushed the hair away from his brother’s face to get a better look.  “Did he cry himself to sleep?” he asked in a low tone.

Morpheus raised his head to face him.  The concern shone clear in the canine’s eyes as he met Dean’s gaze and nodded. 

“Gabriel told me what happened,” Dean continued softly.  “I knew Sam was upset, but I didn’t think…” 

Sam had cried himself to sleep often enough as a child while Dean looked on, powerless to make it better.  And always because of their father.  But now, they were more likely to wake up in tears from nightmares no other human could fathom.  To see his little brother reverting back to his actual childhood behaviors unnerved him.

Dean stared at Morpheus, needing answers.  “Gabriel said Sam didn’t like that they’d watched the tape from his kidnapping.  That Sam thought it was none of their business.”

Morpheus tilted his head, then nodded.

“Cas said that Gabe called Sam ‘his child’ during the argument, and Sam called him ‘sir.’”

Another slow nod.

“Sam’s only called one person ‘sir’ in his entire life, and that was our dad.”

Morpheus’ brow furrowed with his silent question.

“He—our dad,” Dean sighed, searching for the right words, “he was a military vet before we were born.  After our mom died and he became a hunter, I think he saw himself as a soldier again.  Only the war had changed.  And we were his troops.  He gave us orders and expected us to obey.  Insisted we call him ‘sir’ as a sign of respect.  I think we called him ‘sir’ more than ‘dad’ most days.”

Dean looked down at Sam and brushed his fingers through the baby curls again.  It grounded him.  Reminded him that things were different now.

“Sam hated it.  He’d push back—either stay silent or say ‘fine’ instead.  Sometimes, Dad wouldn’t even say anything.  He’d just get in Sam’s face until the kid broke down.  And if that didn’t work, he’d make Sam do extra laps until the kid was puking.”

John had preferred using ‘extra training’ as a form of punishment.  It was only on rare, whisky-fueled occasions that he’d resorted to harsher methods.  The memory made Dean shudder.

Shaking his head, Dean turned his eyes back to the canine. 

Morpheus didn’t seem surprised by Dean’s words.  He radiated calm understanding.  It made Dean wonder if Sam had talked about their dad, or if the canine already suspected.  Take away the supernatural elements, and their story wasn’t that unique.  But he’d be damned if Sam had to relive any aspect of it this time around.

Dean leaned in close and dropped his voice even lower.  “Did anyone touch him?”

Morpheus’ eyes narrowed, matching Dean’s fierceness.  He shook his head ‘no’ in a sharp jerk.  The coiled fear in Dean’s chest eased slightly.

“Did anyone _look_ like they _might_ touch him?” he continued.

Morpheus gave another quick ‘no’ before reaching the paw already over Sam’s back to press against Dean’s leg.  A soft growl rumbled through the room. 

Dean braced himself, unwilling to back down as Morpheus’ face came closer.  Hot, wet puffs of air blew against his neck as serious blue eyes filled his vision.  There was no challenge behind the look—only a promise. 

“You’ll keep him safe if I’m not there,” Dean said in a breathless whisper, “even from the angels.”

It wasn’t a question, but Morpheus nodded firmly anyway. 

“Good,” he sighed. 

Fear of the angels hurting Sam had drastically faded over the past couple weeks.  Trust slowly built in its place—but it didn’t completely erase it.  Castiel was the only one he completely trusted without question.  He hoped to get there one day with the others.  Distrust was too exhausting to maintain long-term.

Morpheus suddenly nuzzled Dean’s hair.  The move startled him, but he managed to not fling himself off the bed.  Not even when a tongue licked along the side of his face, leaving a disgusting trail of slobber in its wake. 

“Quit that!” Dean pushed uselessly at the unmovable head.

Morpheus ignored him, continuing to lick his hair and ear like he frequently did to Sam.  It made Dean squirm, and he bit back the laughter building in his throat.  Instead, he raised his shoulder to protect the side of his face.

“You are ruining a perfectly good moment here!”

Morpheus chuffed, the canine equivalent of a laugh, and got in one more lick across Dean’s nose.  Dean remained contorted, his ear pressed against his shoulder and eyes squeezed shut, until he was sure the slobber-attack was over.  He felt the bed shift and opened his eyes to find Morpheus’ grinning from a respectable distance.

“Is that how you get Sam to listen to you?  Lick him into submission?”

The canine just snorted.

Dean wiped his face with the bottom hem of his t-shirt, hiding his smile behind the fabric.  Maybe having a dog wasn’t so bad after all.  _I’m getting soft in my old age._

“If you start licking me to make me listen,” said a small sleepy voice, “I will bite you.”

Dean and Morpheus both froze, giving each other sheepish looks.  _Oops._  

* * *

Sam awoke to the sensation of being bounced and jostled.  He felt drunk with sleep, his mind slow and confused.  For a second, he thought he was in the Impala and that Dean must have gone over potholes or speedbumps.  But then, he realized he was way too warm and wedged between two solid bodies. 

Dean’s voice reached him through the heavy fog.  The tone of playful-outrage set Sam at ease even though the words themselves were lost in the space between sleep and waking.  He heard a rumbling sound, and his brother speak again.  This time, he understood the words.

“Is this how you get Sam to listen to you?  Lick him into submission?” Dean asked in a semi-disgusted tone.

_Lick me into submission?  What the hell…?_   Sam opened his eyes to find a wall of white.  Well, that cleared one thing up.  Obviously, Morpheus was involved.  And licking.  Which reminded him…

“If you start licking me to make me listen, I will bite you,” Sam said, trying to sound forceful.  The effect fell short, muffled by the blankets and his own mumbling. 

“ _Shit_.  I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Dean whispered.  “I—we can be quiet if you want to go back to sleep.”

Sam frowned.  _Why does Dean care about waking me up?_ he wondered, starting to push the blankets away.  Then, the events preceding his sleep slammed into focus—the fight in the yard, that stupid tape, Gabriel’s face scowling down at him, claiming Sam as his own.  He kept a tight hold on the covers and pulled them back over his head.

“Hey!  I said you could go back to sleep, not smother yourself to death,” Dean chuckled.

Hands gently pulled the blankets from Sam’s grasp even as he fought them.  He didn’t want to face anyone right now.  If he could burrow through the bed to hide underneath it, he would. 

A cold, wet nose pressed its way under the blankets and snuffled at Sam’s hair.  Sam tried to squirm away, but Dean’s body left him nowhere to go.  A tongue followed the nose, lapping at his face.  He couldn’t even yell at them for fear of getting his mouth licked, so he settled for clenching his jaw and growling in protest.

_Very impressive, pup,_ Morpheus said, sounding amused.  _Are you ready to yield?  Your brother brought food._  

Sam nodded, and the canine retreated.  The blanket fell away, revealing Dean’s face hovering above him.  Sam met his worried expression with a scowl.

“Morning, sunshine!” Dean said with an overly-cheerful smile.  “Actually, I guess it’s more like, ‘late-afternoon-early-evening, sunshine,’ now.”

Sam ignored him in favor of scrubbing at his face.  His eyes itched, and everything felt swollen.  Crust came away from the corners of his eyelids, and he flicked it away in disgust. 

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked in a more serious tone. 

Sam shrugged without answering.  He knew what Dean was referring to.  It wasn’t a coincidence that his brother had braved wedging himself on the bed with Morpheus.  Clearly, the angels had informed him of the incident. 

Shame curdled his stomach as he remembered screaming at Gabriel.  How could he forget about the angel those Brits had tortured?  How could he not realize how close he came to losing Castiel and Gabriel to that egg-weapon?  Was he really that selfish?

“Hey.”  Fingers tapped at his chin, nudging Sam’s face up to meet Dean’s worried gaze.  “Talk to me, dude.”

“I—” Sam’s voice cracked.  Tears welled up in his eyes faster than he could blink them away.  _Fucking grace!_ he cursed, pressing his palms against the flood. 

“Aww, Sammy,” Dean sighed, “come here.”

Hands plucked him from the bed.  Sam found himself against Dean’s chest before he could protest.  The smell of leather and gunpowder had faded in the past weeks, now replaced by kitchen spices and herbs.  He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. 

“I messed up, Dean,” he whimpered. 

“What?!” Dean scoffed softly.  “No, bud.  You had an argument.  It’s okay.”

“No!”  Sam pushed back, away from the safety of his brother’s heartbeat.  “You weren’t there—you didn’t see…I was so stupid, and s-selfish, and mean.  I forgot…I forgot that his brother had been taken, and we almost lost Cas, and I yelled at Gabriel, and made him angry!”  He could hear himself rambling, and knew he wasn’t making sense.

“Dude.  Breathe.”  Dean smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve.  “You are not stupid or selfish.  It’s okay that you forgot some stuff after we rescued you.  You’ve had a lot going on, and it’s not like we did a debrief afterwards.  Which was my fault.  I told them you’d need space when we got back, and to not press you for details.  And I promise—Gabe is definitely not angry.”

“You weren’t there, Dean!” Sam insisted, cutting him off.

“Sam, listen to me.”  Dean leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.  “You had an argument, and you both said some stuff in ways that probably came out a little wrong.  But Gabe is _not angry._   In fact, I had to stick him with Mom on grocery duty to calm him down.  He’s probably weeping and fretting all over the damn kitchen by now instead of getting my freakin’ apples.”

Sam blinked, uncomprehending.  “What?  Why…”

“Because he knows he upset you.  And he knows he scared you.”

Sam pushed Dean’s face away.  “He didn’t…I wasn’t…”

“Sam,” his brother’s voice was firm, but gentle, “you called him ‘sir.’”

The very word made Sam’s throat constrict, not allowing sound or air to pass.  He shook his head, trying to deny it all, but Dean saw through him.  Morpheus did too.

_Sam, look at me._  Morpheus waited until Sam tore his gaze away from Dean.  _What do you think you’ve messed up?_

Sam glanced back at Dean.  But his brother was staring oddly at Morpheus like he was trying to hear him speak.  He suddenly wished he could talk to the canine over angel radio—some things were just easier to say silently.

_Deep breath, pup.  Your brother assures us that Gabrieloki is not angry._ Morpheus nosed against Sam’s hair without licking.  _I have worked for many gods—cared for their godlings.  I know them well enough to recognize there are different types.  Some are dominant, commanding militants.  Some are possessive and overbearing.  Others are flighty and shallow, too self-obsessed to remember they even have children._

Sam swallowed, trying to relax his throat.  “Which type is Gabriel?”

Morpheus dropped his head down to nuzzle at Sam’s hands, where his fingers twisted and dug into his palm.  Slowly and methodically, he began to lick and push at the hands until they separated.  He continued the soothing gestures as he answered.

_Gabrieloki is none of those.  He is more like my own Mother-goddess, Hecate.  She is a fierce protector of all beings she deems her own.  A need for justice drives her, and her store of wisdom guides her.  But just as she is a Maiden and a Crone, she is also a Mother.  She creates and nurtures life, and is devoted to all her children.  Gabriel is like her.  He has many faces, many forms.  As an archangel, he delivered his Father’s messages and justice.  As the trickster god, Loki, he was a father and a mother, and continued to protect humanity by pursuing those who hurt others._

Sam stared down at Morpheus, barely blinking.  “And now?” he whispered.

_Now, he is both.  He is Gabrieloki—mother, father, messenger, trickster._ Morpheus raised his head so they were eye-level.  _When he came to my Mother seeking my help, I asked him what he wanted for himself.  Do you know what he said?_

Sam shook his head. 

_He listed only hopes he had for you—happiness, peace, safety.  And when I asked again what **he** wanted, he told me he already had more than he knew possible.  A home where he can be himself, and a flock who accepts him.  _

“He said that?” Sam asked.  He thought about the moment they’d learned Gabriel’s true identity.  The story of the archangel running from his broken family to escape his own destruction still resonated strongly with Sam.  And in the end, they both sacrificed their lives to stop the fighting.

Gabriel was nothing like John.  Nothing like the man who sacrificed his life so the fighting could _continue._   The man who claimed to do things for their protection, but always made Sam feel he was under guard instead of safe.  The man who taught him and Dean that the lives of others were always more important than their own. 

“He said what?  What’s anyone saying?” Dean whispered intensely.  “I am so lost.  Did we learn what ‘type’ Gabriel is yet?”

Sam jumped, forgetting that his brother had heard almost none of their conversation.  “Morpheus was telling me his first impressions of Gabriel.”

Dean grinned.  “I wish there was video.”

Sam felt a smile tug at his lips—his brother’s amusement was always infectious. 

_So, pup,_ Morpheus placed his paw on Sam’s lap, _now that you are more calm and awake, do you still believe you’ve messed something up?_

The smile fell away. 

“What’s wrong, Sam?” Dean asked, serious once again.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Sam finally admitted.

“What’s broken?”

Sam shrugged.  It was like saying the words out-loud would shatter everything.  He didn’t even know what words to say. 

Dean sighed, shaking his head.  “Come here,” he said, opening his arms in invitation.  “Come on, get your tiny butt over here.”

Sam reached for him, and let Dean settle them back against the headboard.  The familiar heartbeat was slower now, and easier to hear when his own blood wasn’t roaring in his ears.  Dean’s hands rubbed circles across his back.

“It’s hard to believe how fast everything’s changed, huh?” Dean murmured.  Sam nodded, and let him speak.  “Seems like yesterday it was just us against the world.  And now, we’ve got a home, and a mom, and a dog, and a bunch of angels all living on top of each other.  But we’re all just people, Sam.  And people make mistakes.  You and I make mistakes all the time.  Sometimes, it only affects us.  And sometimes, we unleash a new apocalypse on the world.”

Sam and Morpheus snorted in unison.  Dean reached over and tentatively scratched behind Morpheus’ ears.  The canine looked surprised, but soon relaxed and stretched closer in delight.

“I think it’s fair to say, this mistake is not apocalypse-level.  It isn’t even a routine salt-and-burn level.  It _might_ reach ‘sorry I froze your computer with porn again’ level, but even that’s probably pushing it.”

Sam let his fingers trace the edges of a button on Dean’s shirt as he listened.  “What if his brother, the one the Brits tortured, is dead?”

“Dead or alive, whatever happened to that angel is on the Brits.  Not you.”  Dean tugged at Sam’s hair.  “And Sam—Gabe isn’t Dad.”

“I know,” Sam answered quickly.

“You sure?  Because you’re acting more like the time you accidentally broke Dad’s gun trying to clean it than someone who got in a little argument.”

Sam flinched at the memory.  “I guess I…I don’t know.  I didn’t mean to call him…that.  It just happened.”

“Are you upset because you called him ‘sir?’  Or because he scared you enough to make you say it accidentally?”

“Both,” Sam reluctantly admitted.  He felt Dean nod.

“What about now?  Are you still scared of him?”

Sam thought about it.  His emotions had been all over the place the whole day.  Sleeping hadn’t helped as much as he’d hoped.  But the fear had reduced down to nervous tension mixed with shame. 

“I’m not scared of Gabriel.  I think he just caught me off guard, and all I saw was an angry archangel.”  His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes against the flash of memories.  Worse memories of a far worse archangel. 

Dean made a noise, and his hand returned to rub Sam’s back.  They sat there for a long while, taking comfort in each other’s presence.  Sam found himself drifting, finally finding some peace, when the silence was interrupted by a loud growl from Dean’s stomach.

“And on that note—do you want to go to the kitchen for dinner or eat here?  I brought a bag of food just in case.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sam said automatically.  It was true—his stomach had been unsettled since before the argument.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Dean sighed.  “How about this—would you be up to talking to Gabe tonight?”  Sam tensed, and Dean quickly continued, “Because I honestly don’t know which one of you is more upset about the whole thing.  You’ve both worried yourselves sick.  And dude—tomorrow’s Thanksgiving!  I want you to be able to relax and have fun.”

The enthusiasm in Dean’s voice was easy to read.  And it was genuine, not forced just for Sam’s sake.  Their first Thanksgiving with their mom was definitely something to celebrate. 

Sam groaned, and pushed back so he sat across from his brother.  Dean was right—everyone would be on edge if he and Gabriel didn’t talk.  And it made no sense to wait till morning. 

“Fine,” Sam conceded, rubbing his face.  He felt so tired still. 

“Awesome,” Dean’s grin lit the room as he ruffled Sam’s hair.  “You want me to be here, or…?”

Sam batted his hand away.  “No, it’s cool.  I’m sure you’ve got a million things to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Dean waited until Sam looked at him.  The smile was still there, but his eyes were serious.  “If you want me here, nothing else matters.”

“Pie doesn’t matter?” Sam asked with a half-smile.

“Not as much as you, dude.  And if you aren’t comfortable…”

“Dean.  You have become such a therapist in your old age.  Go make pie.  Please.  I’m sure Morpheus can provide enough support to get me through a single conversation.”  Morpheus snorted from where he laid with his head on the pillow.  “Besides, if it gets too awkward, I can just ride him out of here.”

Dean laughed and stood up to stretch.  “And what—go live in the woods?”

“You could leave me food by the fire,” Sam said, “and books so I don’t turn feral.”

“Whatever.  You wouldn’t last without wifi for more than a day.”  Dean went to the desk and pulled a bottle of water from the bag.  He tossed it to Sam.  “Stay hydrated, lost boy.  And don’t forget to feed Morpheus.  There’s food for both of you in here.  I’ll check on you once the kitchen is set for tomorrow.”

Sam waved him off, and focused on opening the water.  The sound of the door opening and closing made his stomach twist.  A paw pushed against his leg, and he looked up to find Morpheus staring at him.

“What?”

_It’s okay if you’d rather wait till tomorrow to talk to Gabriel._

“No, it’s fine.  I’m being silly.”  The lid finally came off and he took a sip.  The cold water felt good on his throat.  “It’s the grace…I think.  It makes my emotions go haywire, and I can’t stand feeling out of control.  I wasn’t even this way as a kid.  But Dean’s right—if I don’t talk to him now, I’ll work myself into a frenzy again by morning.”

_I would rather you slept until morning._

Sam rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed.  “That may not happen regardless of how this conversation works out.”  He gathered the books he’d dropped by the door and placed them on the nightstand before climbing back up.  It wouldn’t be good for the angels to see Heaven’s oldest tomes laying around on the ground like trash.

_Why do you anticipate trouble sleeping even if your talk goes well?_

Sam shrugged and grabbed the top book.  “I just slept.  And tomorrow’s a holiday.  That alone would be enough to throw my sleep schedule off without any emotional drama.”

The book had no title, but there was a list of chapters in the front.  They were all written in Enochian, and they didn’t make much sense.  The lines listed didn’t seem connected to one another. 

Sam turned the page to the first chapter and slowly worked his way through a few lines.  He didn’t recognize all the words, but what he could read made little sense.  Something about water flowing into a stone, and life, and a blade.  It was either a spell or a terrible nursery rhyme. 

A knock at the door made him jump. 

“Come in,” he called, cursing when his voice cracked.

Gabriel peered into the room like he expected an attack. 

Sam studied the archangel.  _Dean wasn’t kidding—Gabriel looks as bad as I feel.  Oh god, how bad do **I** look? _

“Hey, Samshine,” Gabriel said weakly, “is it okay if I join you two?”

“Well, I think it might be hard to talk with only your face in the room.”  Sam smiled and patted the mattress in front of him. 

Relief shone in Gabriel’s eyes as he quickly entered the room.  He didn’t bounce his way onto the bed in his usual fashion, but he did climb up and sit cross-legged in the middle.  “How are you doing, kiddo?” he asked in a quiet tone.

Sam felt tears try to return, but he blinked them away and huffed a small laugh.  Why had he been so nervous?  This was _Gabriel_ —the archangel who loved candy too much, and who fretted over Sam’s bathwater temperature.  Seeing the ancient being sitting barefoot on his bed, picking at the strings on his pants, made any earlier echoes of John disappear.

“A lot better, actually,” Sam answered. 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.  “Really?  You don’t _look_ a lot better.”

“That’s rich,” Sam scoffed, poking at Gabriel’s leg with his toes, “considering you don’t look all that great yourself.”

The archangel’s mouth dropped open in surprise.  “Sassy brat!  I always look great, thank you.”

Morpheus gave a loud yawn.  _You both look like shit.  The only clear winner here is me._

Sam splashed water from his bottle onto the shifter, careful to not let any fall on the book.  Morpheus simply chuffed and licked Sam’s face.  Revenge dispensed, the canine settled back on the pillow.

Gabriel smiled at their antics, but the worry didn’t disappear from his eyes.  Nor the sadness.  Leaning forward, he slowly closed the book in Sam’s lap and placed it on the nightstand.  Then, he gathered Sam’s hands between his own and held them gently.

“Sam, I am so sorry.  I should never have yelled at you like I did.  I don’t,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t ever want to give you reason to fear me.  _Ever._   Okay?  That’s not who I am.  That’s not how I want _us_ to operate.”

“I know,” Sam cut in, “and I’m sorry too.  I should have told you about the angel—your brother.  And I shouldn’t have told you that… _all that_ …was none of your business.  I’m just…I’m not used to anyone besides Dean getting that worked up over my safety or wellbeing.”

“It’s been a long time since I had anyone in my life to get worked up and worried over.  And let’s face it,” he grinned, and ran his thumbs over Sam’s wrists in a familiar gesture of calming, “you Winchesters have needed someone to fret over you besides Cassie.  Besides, once you claimed him as an honorary Winchester, he became as bad as you at getting into trouble.”

Sam nodded, unable to deny it.  Castiel really was as bad as them.  And when the angel worried about them, he tended to try and fix everything himself.  Usually with disastrous results. 

“Sam, can I ask you something?”  Gabriel’s nervousness was back, and Sam swallowed hard at the sight.  He felt his heartrate soar, and knew the archangel noticed the difference too.  “You don’t have to answer, of course, but it—”

“Sure,” Sam interrupted.  Listening to an anxiety-ridden ramble would only make things worse.  Better to rip the band-aid off all at once.

“Was it my yelling that scared you?  Or the words I said?”

Sam froze, dropping his gaze to their hands.  The yelling hadn’t helped matters, but Sam was rarely bothered by shouting or loud noises.  It was the words, spoken in a low tone, that had caused the most panic— _My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, my business.  Understand?_   Shouted or whispered, those words still inspired a terror Sam couldn’t identify or understand.

“Words,” Sam answered.

Gabriel sucked in a breath.  Sam peered up through his bangs to find the archangel nodding, a sad look on his face. 

“Yeah, I thought that might be the case,” he sighed.  “Listen, Sam—I probably shouldn't have said those things in that moment, but that doesn't mean they aren't true.  I see everyone in the flock as mine, just like I'm all of yours.  But being my child doesn't make me your dad.  And I don’t just mean ‘I’m not John.’  I mean ‘I’m not your parent.’  I don’t get to make decisions for you, and you aren’t expected to obey me, ‘or else.’”

“You won’t send me to bed early for not finishing my dinner?” Sam gave a watery smile, but his voice shook.

“Heaven help us if that were a rule!  You’d be back in bed by breakfast,” Gabriel tried to joke, “but no.  There will be no punishment/reward system between you and I.  If we make mistakes, we’ll deal with them as adults.  We’ll talk through things, give each other space as needed.  If trust is broken or feelings get hurt, then we’ll work to repair them.”

“How can I?” Sam asked, feeling lost.  Thoughts of the poor angel being held captive for over a year by the Brits wouldn’t leave him.  He’d barely survived twenty-four hours with them.  Could he forgive someone who’d failed to mention knowing Dean’s location if the situation were reversed?

“How can you what, Sam?”

“Repair what I broke?”

Gabriel looked confused.  “What did you break?”

“Trust,” Sam answered, his chest tightening again, “by not telling you what the man said.  About your brother.”

“Oh, Sam.  No,” Gabriel said firmly, scooping the boy off the bed and into his arms. 

The sudden change startled Sam, but then his grace settled, making him realize just how frantic it had been.  He exhaled in relief into Gabriel’s shoulder.  A hand ran over his wings, making them shudder, then still.  Sam almost groaned—it was like the moment a migraine suddenly dissipated after hours of agony. 

“ **There you go.  Does that feel better?  You had quite a storm brewing in there,** ” Gabriel murmured softly.

Sam nodded, rubbing his face against the archangel’s shirt.  His head felt too heavy to lift.  The hand trailed up from his wings to lightly dig into the nape of his neck.  His muscles melted.

“ **Good.  Now, I want you just relax and listen to me for a minute.  What happened was not your fault, Samuel Winchester.  I only mentioned what that man said to show that the situation was larger than just your kidnapping.  I did not mean that _you_ are to blame in any way.  If there had been no tape, then I would have asked you to talk about it.  I needed to know what had happened so I could help you—not to place blame or judge you.  You did nothing wrong.**”

“ **But I broke trust,** ” Sam insisted **.**

“ **No, little one.  You broke nothing.  I trust you.  It is time to let it go.  You are not responsible for the world.** ” 

No matter how many times he heard those words, Sam still felt a knee-jerk impulse to deny them.  But before he could argue, a rush of warm grace flowed over him.  It tingled along his skin and made his own grace curl in contentment against it.  Exhaustion threatened to drag him back to sleep, but he managed to get one more question in first.

_Promise?_ he asked, grace-to-grace.

_I promise,_ Gabriel assured.  _Now go to sleep, and dream of peace and pies and puppies._

Sam felt himself be lowered back onto the bed.  He turned on his side, curling into the mountain of fur waiting for him.  The blankets were pulled up over his shoulders.  A kiss grazed his forehead, and he was asleep.


	5. And You, Of Tender Years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame Castiel for this chapter.  
> He hijacked everything--the computer, my brain, the world.

Castiel did not understand the importance of apples.  How could such a simple fruit have so many varieties?  Seventy-five hundred seemed a little excessive in his opinion. 

Thanksgiving was also problematic for him—he had witnessed the atrocities that occurred during the colonization of the New World.  The stories passed down through the centuries were storybook fantasies that erased the true horror of that time.

But he understood the day meant something very different to most Americans now.  It was a day of gratitude, and remembrance.  A celebration of blessings, both large and small.  And the Winchesters had a lot to celebrate.

So, instead of questioning the holiday or apples, he listened intently as Mary gave Gabriel instructions on the ingredients needed.  Gabriel took her list, making notes along the margins about the best locations and harvests for each item.  He left, nervously promising that he’d be back in less than half an hour and begging them to pray to him if he was needed. 

Gabriel reappeared three minutes later, arms laden with bags and surrounded by crates of produce.  A chicken jumped from a basket of dried corn with a loud squawk.  Mary jumped, then scowled at the archangel. 

“What?” Gabriel asked innocently.  “There was a sale!  We go through a lot of popcorn in this place!”

“And was there a sale on _live chickens,_ too?”  Her hands went to her hips.

“Oh,” Gabriel’s face fell, “no.  She was an accident.  I didn’t realize there was a stowaway.”

“Gabriel, we are not killing chickens in this house.  Bunker.”  She huffed in annoyance, trying to find the right word to describe their living location.  “Home.  We are not killing chickens in this home!”

“No!  Of course not!” Gabriel rushed to reassure.  “No chicken killing—I promise!  I’ll…uh…” he snapped his fingers and the chicken disappeared. “I sent her to this local humane egg farm where she’ll roam free through insect-rich fields and sleep in clean roosts at night.” 

“Better,” Mary said.  She looked around at all the wooden crates and woven baskets.  There was a lot more than she’d asked for on her list.  “There was a sale?”

“A few sales,” Gabriel admitted.  “We really were running low on several things I consider staples for the pantry.”

Castiel lifted the lid on a clay pot.  It was filled with lavender-infused honey.  He dipped a finger into the amber liquid and tasted it.  The flavors were beyond anything else he’d ever experienced. 

“Am I right, Cassie?” Gabriel asked, shooting him a wink.

“Absolutely,” Castiel agreed.  “These are all complete necessities.”   He smiled, and returned the wink.  But he could never seem to make his face move fast enough to be effective. 

Gabriel sputtered a laugh, making Castiel realize everyone was looking at him. 

Mary sighed in exasperation, but the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more amused than frustrated.  “I’m sure,” she peeked into a crate, “twenty pounds of baker’s chocolate is a thing found in most pantries.  Just like I’m sure,” she pulled the lid off a tall ceramic jug and made a face, “whatever this is was absolutely necessary.  Actually, what the hell is this?”

“It’s fresh cream!” Gabriel said, rushing over to replace the lid.  “And it needs to stay sealed.  I magicked the container to keep it preserved.” 

Together, they worked to fit the various crates and jars into the now-expanded pantry room.  The small space had gradually grown in the days since the archangel had joined them.  Now, what once was the size of two refrigerators was now several times larger than the kitchen itself.  Dean had grumbled a few times—until the day he discovered the cold-meat storage area, full of steaks and slabs of bacon. 

Castiel hoisted a bag of brown rice to onto a shelf, smiling in anticipation of Dean’s reaction to Gabriel’s most recent haul of food supplies.  As much as the hunter loved cooking, he hated going grocery shopping.  Or shopping of any kind, for that matter. 

As though summoned by his thoughts, Castiel returned for another load to find Dean standing amidst the chaos.  “Dean,” he said, rushing over, “how is Sam?”

Dean met his eyes, and Castiel almost winced.  Exhaustion made his face look bruised.  The pain was old and heavy, and Castiel wished he could carry some of it for him. 

“Sam is…Sam,” Dean sighed. 

Gabriel rushed back into the kitchen, knocking over Raphael in his haste.  “Dean!  You’re back!”

Castiel watched as Dean smiled through the exhaustion, trying to appear much more cheerful for the archangel’s sake.  “I am—and so are you, along with half a market!”

“How is he?” Gabriel asked, once again a bundle of nerves. 

“He’s fine.  Or he’s gonna be fine once you two talk for, like, ten seconds.”

“Talk?” Gabriel looked surprised.  “He’s willing to talk to me?”

“Of course he’ll talk to you—this is Sam we’re talking about.” Dean rubbed his eyes.  “He’s still a little freaked, but that’ll only stop once he sees you’re not mad at him.  You’re not, right?  Mad at him?”

“No!” Gabriel’s eyes went wide in distress.  “I wasn’t even mad at him outside!”

“Not even about your other brother those bastards talked about?” Dean pushed, pinning Gabriel with narrowed eyes.  “The one Sam forgot to mention in the aftermath?”

“What?!  No, I would never be mad at Sam for that!”

“Good,” Dean nodded, fighting a yawn, “because he’d pick up on it right away if you were.  Kid’s always been good at seeing through fake feelings.” 

“Gabriel, perhaps you should go talk to Sam now while he’s still awake,” Castiel suggested.  Dean’s energy was quickly fading—a testament to how much his conversation with Sam was weighing on him.  “He will likely become worried if you delay.  You should not leave him alone with his thoughts too long.”

Gabriel nodded, and wiped his hands on a towel.  The whole kitchen was coated in dirt from the crates, and half of it seemed to cling to the archangel.  Grunting in frustration when he realized the dirt was smearing instead of leaving, Gabriel snapped himself clean.

For a second, Castiel thought his brother would run from the room, but then Gabriel walked over to them.  “Thank you, Dean,” he said, grabbing the hunter in a fierce hug. 

Dean grinned and patted the shorter being on the back.  “Go on, you sap.  Sam’s probably half-asleep by now.  Morpheus and I accidentally woke him up.”

Gabriel chuckled, and pulled away.  “You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late, kids.”

Castiel smiled as his brother left.  Knowing that Sam was going to be okay was a huge relief.  Witnessing the conflict between the two had been unsettling enough—he could only imagine the turmoil it had caused them. 

“Is he really okay?” Mary asked from the pantry door.  Raphael stood behind her.  They wore identical worried expressions. 

Dean grimaced before turning around to face her with a smile firmly in place.  Only Castiel saw the toll all this was taking on the man.  “Yeah, Sammy just needs to talk a bit and get some more sleep.  He’ll be back to his old self by morning.  You’ll see.”

Mary frowned and walked over to the island.  “This whole thing—Gabriel calling Sam his child and Sam calling him sir—it’s about John, isn’t it?” 

Dean’s shoulders dropped.  Stooping down to grab a bushel of apples, he brought them to the island next to his mother.  “Yeah,” he admitted.  “There was some other stuff mixed up in all of it, but Dad was the main issue here.”

“Were you,” she paused, clearly not wanting to ask the question, but her need for answers made her continue, “were you boys scared of him?”

Dean didn’t meet her eyes.  A controlled calm settled over him as he began sorting the apples.  Castiel had no idea if there was an actual method to Dean’s sorting or if he was just trying to keep up appearances. 

“Only sometimes,” he finally answered in a quiet voice, “if a hunt went wrong, or he’d been drinking too much.”

Castiel knew the Winchesters’ tendency for drinking in hard times.  He’d seen both brothers search for peace in the bottom of a bottle.  It disturbed him to think they’d picked up the habit from John--especially considering how alcohol tended to fuel already-present anger.  It was not a healthy situation for children.

Tears filled Mary’s eyes, but none fell.  “I’m so sorry, baby.  I-I never wanted you boys to ever _see_ a hunter, let alone…”

Dean set down the apples and swept her into a hug.  “Mom, it’s okay.  It isn’t your fault,” he reassured.  “And it wasn’t every day, just once in a…”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Mary huffed, only half-joking.  “Just _once_ would be too many times.”

“I know,” Dean whispered.

Castiel wished he could go back and change everything.  Take the boys from John and raise them himself.  Prevent Mary’s death and Azazel’s blood from ever reaching Sam’s lips.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Castiel looked up to find Raphael standing beside him.  The archangel didn’t smile, but warm comfort seeped through their bond.  He reached up and covered the grounding hand with his own, pouring his gratitude and love back to the Healer.

“So,” Mary sniffed, pulling away from Dean with a watery smile, “I’m guessing Sammy is sleeping in his old room again tonight?”

Dean nodded, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  “Looks like it.  We’ll have to wait till tomorrow before trying to lure him back to the other bedroom.”

She caught his hand and kissed the back of it.  “In that case, I think I’ll take a hot bath and go to sleep in my own room too.”

“You sure?  I mean, I could stay with you if you wanted me to.”

Mary smiled and patted his cheek.  “No, honey.  I’ll be fine.  I just need to think about some things.”

Raphael cleared his throat, startling them all.  “Might I suggest journaling?  It is an excellent method for organizing one’s thoughts and recording them for later reflection.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Raphael.  Thank you.”  Mary hugged her son once more.  “Don’t stay up all night working on pies and side dishes, understand?  I want you rested and fresh come morning.  If all your stories are to be believed, then Sammy has limited cooking skills and even more limited experience with holidays.  I’d like to show him as much as we can of both tomorrow.”

Dean grinned.  “Yes, ma’am!”

Mary looked like she wanted to protest being called “ma’am” but she held her tongue at seeing a genuine smile on Dean’s face.  She settled for shaking her head instead and calling him a brat under her breath. 

Before she left the kitchen, she gave Raphael a hug as well.  And then she turned to Castiel, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear.  “You make sure he gets some sleep tonight, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, just as quiet.

Mary kissed his cheek, and left the kitchen before the blush reached his face.

“I need to return to Heaven again for the evening, but I shall be back before breakfast,” Raphael announced.

“Trouble?” Dean asked, instantly on high-alert.

“No, no,” Raphael quickly reassured, “just more healing sessions.  I’ll probably start spending most of my evenings there while you are all sleeping.  There is still much to do to get Heaven back in order.”

“As long as you’re here by breakfast,” Dean said, wagging a finger, “I don’t wanna hear Gabe bitchin’ because you’re late.”

“Father forbid.”  Raphael smiled, then disappeared in a whisper of wings. 

Dean sighed, and leaned against the counter.  All the masks and false energy fell suddenly away, leaving the man barely upright.  Castiel felt honored that Dean did not feel the need to pretend otherwise in his presence.

“Dean,” he said quietly. 

The hunter grunted without raising his head.

Castiel walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “This can all wait until tomorrow.  It’s been a long day, and you need to sleep.”

“No, it’s cool,” Dean pushed himself upright and scrubbed at his face.  Castiel feared he’d been crying, but it seemed more of an attempt to wake himself up than to hide tears.  “There’s a few dishes that need prepped tonight.  But they won’t take too long.”

“Can I help?” Castiel asked, knowing it was useless to argue. 

“You know where the flour ended up in all this mess?”

Castiel nodded and retrieved the sack from the pantry.  “What are we ‘prepping’ tonight?”  He used the finger quotes out of habit—and because it never failed to make Dean smile.  Tonight was no exception.

Dean’s grin was worth the knowledge that he’d been using the gesture incorrectly for years.  “Dough for pie crusts!” he announced joyfully. 

Dean showed him how to mix and knead the dough, explaining the process as they went.  Castiel listened intently.  They worked steadily, rolling each final product into a ball and wrapping them in plastic to set overnight. 

By the time they finished placing everything in the expanded refrigerator, it was after nine-o’clock.  Dean blinked wearily at the kitchen, as though debating what to do next.  Castiel made the decision for him.

“The rest can wait until tomorrow,” he said, looping an arm around the hunter’s waist and steering him toward the hall.

“But Cas, I still gotta…” Dean started to protest, but Castiel cut him off.

“It can wait,” he insisted.  “You are tired, and I promised Mary you would be well rested come morning.”

“My _mom_ told you to make me go to bed early?” Dean scoffed.  His voice was gruff, but Castiel felt a sharp hipbone try to playfully nudge him. 

“Do I need to carry you?” Castiel asked wryly.  It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened Dean with such an action. 

“No,” Dean grumbled.  But the warning was heeded—he walked all the way to his bedroom without complaint.  “Thanks for your help.  In the kitchen…and with all the other stuff,” he said before going in.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel smiled.  “Whatever you need—I’m here.”

Emotions flashed across the hunter’s face faster than Castiel could interpret them.  He caught a twitch in Dean’s right brow, blown pupils right before the eyes narrowed, and lips that parted while the jaw clenched.  “Right,” he swallowed, “well, don’t let your brother stress-bake all night.  I don’t want to wake up and find he’s time-warped my kitchen and spent three months cooking.”

“You…don’t want him to do the time warp?  Again?” Castiel asked as dead-panned as possible.

Dean blinked.  “Did you…did you just make the reference I think you made?”

Castiel allowed a slow grin.  “Maybe.”  It was Gabriel’s fault—he’d taken to making them watch movies while their charges slept.  _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ had premiered in the early morning hours three days ago.  “You didn’t strike me as one who enjoys musicals.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean huffed a flustered laugh and rubbed his face, “ _Rocky_ ain’t exactly _Oklahoma._ ”

“The state?” Castiel asked, suddenly confused.

“The—good night, Cas.”  Dean patted him on the shoulder and shuffled into his room. 

“Good night,” Castiel said to the closed door.  _I’ll just wait here then,_ he thought with a sigh. 

Rolling his eyes, he walked through the hall towards Sam’s room.  Gabriel stood outside the boy’s door, staring absently at the wall.   It seemed Castiel wasn’t the only angel feeling adrift with all their humans in separate beds.

_How did your conversation with Sam go?  Are things…better?_   Castiel asked silently, coming to stand next to his brother.

_Better than I expected, in some regards.  Kid had the nerve to try and make_ me _feel better.  Of course, he was a worse mess within a few minutes, so I was able to return the favor._   Gabriel shook his head in bewilderment. 

_And in other regards?_ Castiel watched Gabriel’s smile slide away.

_Honestly?  I’m worried about him.  Sam’s carrying so much guilt around, he can’t understand how people could care about him, or even want him._

_I believe that is a general Winchester trait,_ Castiel agreed. 

_What’s he gonna do when he meets the host, Cassie?  From what Raphael’s told me, the few angels who’ve learned Sam’s identity have quickly embraced him as the new baby.  You think they’ll all be as conscious of human psychology when it comes to keeping their enthusiasm under wraps?_

_I’m telling Sam you called him the ‘new baby.’_

_Pffft,_ Gabriel waved him off, _he’s heard me say it.  But seriously—Sam has an extended family now.  He’s gonna meet them eventually.  And unless they all suddenly learn to cover their protective instincts, he’s gonna freak._

Castiel frowned.  He had not thought about Sam meeting their siblings, except in regards to keeping him safe from those who hated the Winchester name.  But if Raphael was right, then they might be facing a completely different scenario. 

His memories of Heaven’s early years were hazy due to Naomi’s constant reprogramming.  But the few images that remained intact were of bright angels, full of love for each other and fiercely protective over the younger generations.  He’d often heard Caretakers shooing non-Caretaker angels from the nursery.  It had been a common game among seraphs to sneak in and play with the fledglings.

Teaching fledglings to fly had always been a disastrous season for the other ranks.  The cry of a little one who’d stumbled or grown frustrated was enough to bring an entire garrison’s training to a halt.  Garrison leaders never tried to stop the seraphs from rushing to help—in fact, they usually led the charge toward Heaven’s flying grounds.

He could only imagine their reaction to seeing their newest sibling.  The wounds on Sam’s soul were obvious with the grace.  It reminded Castiel of Kintsugi, the Japanese tradition of fixing broken pottery with gold—only, in Sam’s case, there was more grace than soul. 

_Our brothers and sisters have never seen a fledgling like Samuel—they will see his old scars immediately, and wish to soothe him,_ Castiel finally said.  _And Sam’s only experience with angels beyond those of us here has been extremely negative._

_No kidding,_ Gabriel grimaced.

_Perhaps we should introduce him gradually to small, controlled groups,_ Castiel suggested.  _That way he does not get overwhelmed by the entire host, and our siblings can be prepared one by one._

_That’s a good idea, although it may take a few centuries to introduce him that way._ Gabriel leaned back against the wall.  _I’m considering having the angel guard help out when we start Sam flying in a few days._

_Oh,_ Castiel felt a jolt of anxiety at the thought of Sam flying, _I hadn’t realized we were progressing so quickly._   He also had avoided the angel guard since their arrival.  Most of the host despised him, and there was no reason to antagonize those willing to watch over the rest of the flock.

_He’s far enough along in grace work and forming feathers to start learning how to consciously control those wings.  And anything that gives him a sense of control is going to help alleviate some of his anxieties.  Besides,_ Gabriel snorted, _if we don’t teach that kid to fly in a controlled setting soon, he’s gonna start accidentally flinging himself places._

_He did that once, before he even had wings,_ Castiel reminded him.

_A testament to Sam’s power.  Although, it was less flying and more like his grace just pushed him up the tree faster than his brain could process.  But, yeah—he’s gonna be a terror to teach, I can tell._   Gabriel shuddered dramatically.  _Which is why I’m asking the guard to help.  We’ll need some extra hands and eyes to keep him within set boundaries while he learns control.  I do **not** want to have to retrieve him from the Antarctic or the Moon or whatever place he manages to land if things go wrong._

_You just don’t want to explain it to Dean or Mary,_ Castiel said with a knowing smirk.

Gabriel shuddered again.  _Nope._

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the slow breathing past the door.  It was shaping up to be a long night.  _Are you planning on standing here until Sam wakes up?_

_Yup._

Castiel nodded.  _Then I shall leave you to it.  I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.  There are still things to put away from your trip to the markets._

It felt odd to walk through the bunker alone at night.  He’d grown accustomed to stretching out in the bed, keeping Sam and Morpheus safely barricaded between himself and Dean.  The hours would pass in either silent conversations with his brothers, or in personal reflection.  It seemed wrong for them to all be separated.

Fighting the urge to mimic Gabriel and stand outside Dean’s door until morning, Castiel returned to the kitchen.  It really _was_ a mess.  And Dean hated working in a messy kitchen.

He managed to get all the ingredients packed away before he heard it—a door opening, and the heavy fall of boots along the floor.  Sighing, he snapped his fingers and made sure all the surfaces gleamed.  Gabriel had taught him a variety of domestic uses for his grace.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Castiel asked when the steps stopped at the doorway. 

“No,” Dean said gruffly.  “Figured I may as well get some work done if I’m gonna be awake anyway.  No use wasting the time.”

Castiel stopped him from going to the pantry by standing in his way.  “Resting is not a waste of time, even if you are not asleep.”

“Cas,” Dean started to protest, rolling his eyes as he geared up for a fight.

Castiel grasped his face gently between two palms.  He ran his thumbs over the dark circles painting the skin below the man’s eyes, wishing he could wipe away the weariness like dirt.  “Dean, you are exhausted.” 

Dean stared at him, too stunned to speak for a second.  Then, he tugged Castiel’s hands away from his face.  “I know, man.  Believe me, _I know._ ”

“Then, why can you not sleep?”  Castiel wondered if Dean knew he was still holding his wrists.

Dean looked away, flushed.  “I…it’s too…quiet,” he muttered.

“Ah,” Castiel smiled.  “Gabriel and I have been similarly affected by the change of routine tonight.”

“Yeah, I saw him standing guard outside Sam’s room.  I half…” Dean trailed off, releasing Castiel’s wrist with a frown, and scratched the back of his neck. 

“You half what?”

“I half expected to find you outside my door, honestly,” he finally admitted.

“I considered it,” Castiel confessed in turn.  “I prefer the nights when we are all together, and I have everyone in my sights.  The nights preceding Sam’s kidnapping were difficult.”

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, remembering.  “I hope Sam doesn’t decide to stay in his room again.  I mean, I know Morpheus is there, but still…”

“Yes, he sleeps better when he feels secure.  And being surrounded by loved ones provides that safety—for both of you.”

Dean laughed and turned away.  “You know me, Cas—all I need is a gun under the pillow and a solid four hours and I’m good to go.”

“Maybe three apocalypses ago, but now you need at least seven hours.  And a gun is not substitute for the security of family.”  Castiel didn’t wait for a response.  He simply wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist for the second time that evening and directed them back toward the bedroom.  “Come on.  Back to bed.”

“When did you get so bossy?”

“About five minutes after I dragged your ass out of Hell.”

“You were a bossy little shit back then, weren’t you?”  Dean yawned, and his weight sagged.  Castiel held him easily, slinging the hunter’s arm over his own shoulder to keep him upright.  “God, I’m not even drunk,” he said as he tripped over his own feet.

“No, but you are tired,” Castiel pointed out as he opened the bedroom door with a touch of grace.  “And it’s been a very long day for everyone.”

“It’s been a long life.”

“That too.”  Castiel got him to the edge of the bed and made him sit.  Kneeling down, he began unlacing the worn-out boots.  He made a mental note to find him more comfortable footwear—maybe for Christmas.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”  Castiel pulled the boot off and started on the other.

“W-what are you doing?”

Castiel looked up into wide green eyes.  It was a familiar expression now.  Sam usually wore it whenever someone unexpectedly tried to take care of him.  _Winchesters_.

“I am taking off your boots so you can lay down,” he explained calmly.  “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“You don’t have to do…”

Castiel pushed him back against the pillow without a word.  The blankets were in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.  He shook them out and laid them over Dean who just stared in shock. 

Once finished, Castiel kicked off his own shoes and settled on the bed next to him.

“Umm…”

“I will stay so the room is not so empty.”

“You don’t have…”

“Would you rather I stood in the hallway?” Castiel cut him off.  “Because I will if it ensures you remain in bed.” 

“No!  I just…”

“You think that I only take care of Sam because he is child-sized and has grace?”  Castiel met Dean’s gaze in the dark room.

“Well, you didn’t exactly go around dressing, or um, undressing us before.  So, yeah.  Maybe?”

Castiel frowned.  “You have removed or fixed articles of my clothing in the past.”

“That’s not…I…never mind,” Dean’s voice trailed off as he hid his face in the pillow.  “You can lay down, you know.”

Castiel could barely hear the muffled words.  Confused by the rapid change in signals from Dean, he scooted down the bed nevertheless.  Staring at the ceiling, he listened for the change in breathing that would indicate Dean was asleep. 

Twenty minutes later, the hunter was still awake.  When he restlessly shifted in the bed for the fifteenth time with a grunt, Castiel turned to face him.  “What is wrong, Dean?”

Dean sighed and twisted back around so they could see each other.  “Can’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything.  Thanksgiving.  Mom.  Sam.  Dad.”

“The incident between Sam and Gabriel took a toll on you.”

“I—yeah.  Anything involving our dad is hard.  Growing up, he was my hero.  I tried to be just like him, and couldn’t understand why Sam had to fight him on everything.  He’d do things, knowing it would set Dad off, and I’d get so mad.”

“You tried to keep the peace.”

“I _tried_ to protect him!  Because I knew there was nothing I could do if he pushed Dad past a breaking point.  But he never listened.”

“Did John have a temper that was easily provoked?”

Dean gave a hollow laugh.  “You could say that.”

Castiel thought about it, trying to picture Sam purposefully pestering an adult into a rage.  “Perhaps it gave Sam a sense of control.”

Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion.  “What?  No.  That’s the stupidest…it was the opposite of control once Dad got mad enough.  He’d just explode.”

“I have seen you do the same thing on many occasions,” Castiel said.

“What?  When?”

“When confronting an enemy, knowing the situation will end in battle, you often taunt them into swinging first.”

“That’s different, Cas.”

“Why?  Because it’s a creature?”

“Because I’m an adult hunter!  I have weapons and experience and I’m damn good at what I do.  And I don’t always feel like letting the monster of the week waste my time with some stupid monologue.  I’d rather get it over with so I can get some food, grab a beer, and sleep.”

Castiel chose his words carefully.  “Sometimes, the tension of waiting for an attack is harder to deal with than the fight itself.  Maybe Sam preferred forcing John to lose his temper rather than waiting to see what kind of mood he’d be in that night.”

Dean mulled it over.  Castiel could almost see the wheels turning as the hunter recalled various incidents from their childhood.  Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “I could never figure out why Sam would choose the worst nights to antagonize him.  The nights when he started drinking early, or look for any excuse to call us out no matter how hard we’d tried—weapons were never clean enough, our running time not fast enough.  I always tried to appease him, but Sam…Sam dug in until…”

“It is never a child’s responsibility to pacify a parent.  You should never have been placed in a situation where you needed to protect Sam from _anything—_ let alone, your father.”

Dean shut his eyes and buried his face against Castiel’s shoulder.  “But I was and I failed.  I’ve failed him so many times now.”

Castiel adjusted their position, getting his arm under Dean’s head.  It allowed him to bring his hand up to the hunter’s shoulder and draw him closer.  “We have all failed each other.  But we keep trying—keep working toward making things better.  And you are not alone anymore.”

Dean nodded without answering.  His shoulders shook slightly, and his breathing felt erratic.  But no noise escaped him.

Castiel brought his other arm around to rub his back.  Offering physical comfort had become second nature with Sam, so he followed his instincts.  He wasn’t prepared for how _right_ it felt with Dean. 

“Go to sleep.  You are not alone.”  He pressed a kiss to Dean’s hair and felt him settle.  “Not anymore.”


	6. Can't Know The Fears That Your Elders Grew By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *LONG CHAPTER ALERT*  
> Here, ya heathens--take it! Almost 10k of holiday angst and cheer!!  
> This chapter almost killed me. I rewrote it about three times in a week.  
> Also, you can direct all weeping flames toward @ScrollingKingfisher, who told me there needed to be "more inner turmoil" for Mary in one section, which led to about 5 extra pages of pure angst. 
> 
> AND  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @NATHYFAITH!!  
> I LOVE YOU GIRL <3<3<3

Mary awoke feeling like something was out of place.  She blinked until her eyes focused on the less-familiar walls of her private bedroom.  That’s what was wrong—she was alone. 

The clock by her bedside told her it was only 6:15 in the morning.  _Too early_ , she thought. 

Life before her death had never started so early.  Mornings tended to begin around seven-thirty most days.  Waking up on weekends after ten o’clock were her favorites.  Luckily, Dean had been a fan of sleeping late like her. 

Infant Sammy, of course, held his own schedule.  It varied day-to-day, but he’d never been a fussy baby.  And chances were, if he didn’t wake her up then she’d find Dean curled up in the crib with him. 

The memory made Mary smile.  Stretching, she rolled out of bed.  Who knew that her days of sleeping in would end now that her sons were older? 

Mary grabbed a sweater, not bothering to change out of her sleep-pants, and made her way toward the kitchen. 

Journaling before bed had made her nostalgic.  She’d spent almost an hour staring blankly at the paper, unsure where to begin.  Anger at John mixed with grief for her boys until the paper swam out of focus.  There was too much pain to tackle in a single sitting. 

So, she turned to her favorite method of sorting through chaos:  lists.  She made lists of important dates.  Lists of places she’d planned to take the boys as they grew older.  Lists of presents Dean had gotten for birthdays and Christmases.  And once she started thinking of holidays, she lost herself in listing their little family’s traditions.

Her own family had swung between going overboard in celebrating holidays and missing them completely due to hunts.  And John’s single-mother had tried her best to give him happy memories, but it had always been overshadowed by his absent father.  Once she’d married John, they made their own traditions.  Her favorite was spending holidays in pajamas. 

With that thought in mind, Mary detoured to Sam’s room.  She came to a halt when she saw Gabriel leaning by her son’s door.  “Is everything okay?”

Gabriel perked up, gracing her with a broad smile.  “Everything’s fine,” he quickly reassured.

She studied him for a second.  “Then why are you standing out here?”

Gabriel shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and failing.  “I wanted to be close.  Just in case…”

Understanding hit her, and she pulled the archangel into a tight embrace.  “Thank you for watching over him,” she whispered. 

Gabriel blushed.  “Well, it was kinda my fault he’s sequestered himself.  The least I can do is make sure he’s okay through the night.”

“You may have triggered his behavior, but you weren’t the cause of it.”  She sighed and scrubbed at her face.  “Every time I learn something new about John, it makes me want to hitch a ride to Heaven so I can punch him.  Hard, in the face.  Repeatedly.”

The archangel raised his eyebrows slowly. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Mary grinned.  “I doubt I could do much damage punching you.  But I have learned quite a bit about fighting angels from Dean and Cas’ stories.”

“Yikes.  Yeah, I’m definitely working overtime to stay in your good graces!”

“Do me a favor?  When Sam wakes up, tell him to either stay in his pajamas or pick his favorite pair to change into.”  Mary looked him over, taking in his jeans, jacket, and collared shirt.  “And while you’re at it, snap yourself up some PJs.  You’re way too overdressed for the day already.” 

“I thought humans usually dressed up for special occasions,” Gabriel said, confused. 

“Not in this family!”  Mary turned to leave, then paused.  “Is Dean still asleep?  I need to give him the dress code memo too.” 

“Umm, he’s still asleep as far as I know.”  Gabriel’s eyes focused on something unseen—a sign he was communicating over angel-radio.  “Yeah, Cas says he’s still asleep, but should be waking up soon.”

“I swear,” she sighed, “I will teach these boys the meaning of ‘sleeping in’ if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck with that,” Gabriel muttered loud enough for her to hear. 

Mary silently agreed as she made her way toward her oldest son’s room.  She opened the door as quietly as possible, and froze.  _Well, this is unexpected._

Dean was half-draped over Castiel with one arm wrapped around the angel’s chest.  Castiel held him close, his right hand lightly running through her son’s hair.  They were both fully-clothed, yet the moment seemed incredibly intimate.

Blue eyes met her own before she could back out of the room.  He raised one finger to his lips, letting her know to keep her voice down.  Mary nodded.

“Can you tell him to stay in pajamas today?” she whispered.  It was too low for a human to hear, but angels were different.  Gabriel could probably hear her at this level from outside.

Castiel frowned, but nodded. 

Mary mouthed a _thank you_ and made a hasty exit.  She knew Gabriel often teased Dean and Castiel about being together, and they obviously loved each other, but the insinuations were always rebuffed.  She had assumed their love was familial.  Platonic and non-romantic.

She skipped into the kitchen, warm and giddy with happiness.  

Raphael sat at the table, reading a book.  “You look very pleased this morning, Mary,” he said, smiling. 

“I am!”  She started the coffee even though she already felt wired with energy. 

“And what has you so excited today?  Is it this ‘Thanksgiving’ you mentioned?”

“Well, I am excited about Thanksgiving.  We’ve got a lot of cooking planned for today, and Sammy’s going to be with us in the kitchen instead of training outside.” 

Raphael put down his book.  “Are we monopolizing too much of Samuel’s time?”

A resounding _Yes!_ echoed in Mary’s head, derailing her giddiness.  She watched the coffee brew, debating her answer.  “I know his training is important—that he could be a danger to himself or others if he can’t control his grace.  But sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” Raphael prompted gently.

“It’s still weird—him not being a baby.  I feel like I send him to some elite kindergarten everyday when he should be napping and taking a bottle.”  She poured the coffee into a mug before it was done brewing.  “It’s been nice connecting to Dean.  We are relearning each other, and I think we’re both surprised to find how much we have in common.  But he remembers me—there’s a foundation to build on.”

“And Samuel?”

Mary dumped sugar into her coffee, trying to squash the surge of jealousy.  Everyone seemed to have an easy bond with her son except her.  She joined the Healer at the table, slouching in her seat.

“I don’t think I’m connecting with him as much.  He has no memory of me—he barely has other people’s memories of me.”  She took a sip.  “The way Dean tells it, John rarely spoke of me.  It’s like I became this symbol—the murdered wife who must be avenged.  The boys lost everything—their parents, home, future—and I was the reason.”

“Your death may have been John’s reason for revenge, but it was his decisions that robbed the boys of their father and a stable home.  And their future is still quite bright.”  Raphael laid his hand on her back, and Mary felt warmth flow along her spine. 

“It’s not the future I’d planned for them, but you’re right.  They do _have_ a future.”

“Perhaps we can adjust Samuel’s training so you have more time together.  After all, he will be a fledgling for many more years.  He is already grasping the concepts of control we are teaching him.  There is no rush for him to learn everything immediately.  We have time.”

The thought both relieved and saddened Mary.  Knowing that her boys had both died multiple times, and experienced unimaginable traumas, it was a relief to hear that they could now enjoy a long, bright future.  But while most parents often dream of their children remaining young forever, Mary grieved over the fact that she would never see Sam grow up.  Never experience the towering-but-gentle ‘moose’ she’d heard so much about. 

“I have upset you,” Raphael said softly.

“No, not really.  It’s just hard…the idea that Sam is going to be a child for the rest of my life.”  Mary looked up from her coffee.  “But if the alternative is me having to watch my adult son’s soul slowly fall apart, then I’ll take an eternal-child and count myself blessed.”

Raphael patted her back, then pulled away.  “So, was it the prospect of cooking with Samuel that had you so excited when you entered earlier?”  His attempt at returning the conversation to a happier topic was obvious.  Mary loved him for it.

“Kinda,” she said, grinning at the memory of Dean and Castiel. 

“Hmm,” Raphael hummed thoughtfully.  “And the part that is not ‘kinda?’”

Mary giggled before she could stop herself.  “I _may_ have discovered that Gabriel’s teasing was more prophetic than joking.”

“Regarding?”

“My son and your brother.”

Raphael blinked.  “You have two sons.  And I have many, many brothers.  And Gabriel teases enough to include every single one.  You may need to be more specific.”

“Dean and Castiel.”

“Ah.”  Raphael smiled, relaxing back into his chair.  “I had wondered.”

“Really?” Mary asked.

“During the Apocalypse, Castiel turned his back on Heaven in favor of Dean Winchester.  He literally fell from grace—his powers diminished as he was cut off from Heaven.  Many of us believed that Castiel’s flight through Hell to save Dean had created a bond between them.  But it soon became apparent that it was more than that.”

Mary shuddered at the thought of angels invading Hell to retrieve her boy.  She pushed the image aside, focusing on what she’d seen that morning instead.  “I thought they were together when I first…returned.  They were so in sync, so close.  And they took turns watching each other.  It reminded me a bit of my parents.  But when there were no other signs, I just figured that’s how they were.  And after I met Gabriel and you, I thought it was an angel thing.”

“An angel thing?”

“Yeah, you know,” she smiled, reaching out a hand to playfully rub his arm, “you guys are all touchy-feely.  Castiel set up the communal bedroom my first night here, and Gabriel acted like it was completely normal.  And I’ve heard stories about Heaven in its earlier days.  It sounded like you were all very close and protective.  So, I thought that was just how Castiel was with my boys.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose that makes sense.”  Raphael shook his head.  “However, you did not know Castiel before he met the Winchesters.  He was very isolated from the Host, even as a young angel.  It seems he did not find his place until he met your sons.  His grace lights up when he is around Dean—just as Dean’s soul glows brighter when he is around Castiel.”

“In that case,” Mary lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper, “I definitely saw them snuggling together this morning.”

“Saw who snuggling?” asked a voice from the doorway.

Mary whipped around to see Sam rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  Morpheus hovered over his shoulder, filling the entrance to the kitchen.  Gabriel tried to push the canine forward from the hallway, muttering about “giant fluffy oafs” keeping him from the coffee.  Considering the archangel could easily move the pony-sized canine with his pinky finger, Mary knew he was having fun being dramatic.

“No one,” she answered innocently.

Sam squinted at her—a perfect imitation of Castiel.  He turned to Morpheus.  “Did Mom come in our room earlier?”

Morpheus snorted.  Mary couldn’t hear his response, but she knew Sam was eliminating all possibilities.  She saw the moment his sleepy brain caught on. 

“Oh my God,” Sam gasped, suddenly more awake.  He glanced around the room, taking in each person present.  “Where’s Dean?  And Cas?”

“Sam…” Mary tried to slow him down, worried she’d revealed too much. 

“Oh my God!” he practically squealed.  Sam turned and pushed against Morpheus’ chest.  “Move!  I have to see.”

Morpheus moved, and Mary’s heart clenched as Sam darted past him.  She had visions of how disastrous the morning might turn—full of screaming and embarrassment and grumpy boys everywhere.  But before she could even yell for him to stop, Gabriel caught Sam around the waist and hoisted him into the air.

“Whoa there, mister,” Gabriel laughed as he effortlessly carried the bundle of flailing limbs into the kitchen.  “How about we give Deano the chance to wake up.  If you run in there now, you’ll scare him off.  And then we’ll be stuck with their love-sick staring for another decade or two before they try again.”

Sam slumped in the hold.  “Fine,” he pouted, “but you’re not the one who’s already been stuck watching them for almost a decade.  I have the right to be excited.”

“I know,” Gabriel said, his voice dripping with sympathy.  “You poor thing.  I can only imagine how hard it’s been.”

“Put me down, asshole.”  Sam gripped the archangel’s elbow, trying to pry it off his stomach. 

“Asshole?” Gabriel growled.  He brought up his other hand and lightly dug his fingers into Sam’s side.  The boy squirmed helplessly, cursing and laughing at the same time.  Gabriel carried him to Mary and grinned.  “I believe this heathen belongs to you,” was all the warning she had before Sam was dumped on her lap.

Mary grabbed him instinctively before he could fall.  Sam stopped struggling the second he landed, looking stunned at the sudden change.  She gathered him close, patting his back as he calmed his breathing.

“Yup, this one is definitely mine,” Mary said with a smile.  She wiped the tears of laughter from his red cheeks and planted a kiss on top of his messy curls.  “I see you got my message about pajamas.”

Sam picked at the soft fabric of the bright red pants.  He wore the matching shirt—white, with a red Superman logo in the center.  Dean had picked them out, giving a vague story about roofs and little brothers who thought they could fly.

“Are these okay?” Sam asked shyly.  “I know they aren’t the ones you wanted…”

“What do you mean, sweetie?” 

“Gabriel said you wanted me to wear the footie ones,” he said, worry making his words come faster as he continued, “but I can barely move in them.  And if we’re gonna be cooking all day, I don’t want to be sliding all over the floor while carrying stuff.” 

Gabriel snickered from where he stood by the coffee pot. 

Mary shot him a glare.  “It seems God’s Messenger decided to add a few things to my message.”

Sam twisted in her lap to also glare at the archangel.  “You liar!  I could have killed myself in that thing!”

Gabriel gave up snickering in favor of full-throated laughter.  “It would’ve been your cutest death to date though!”

Mary’s gut twisted at the casual mention of previous deaths. 

Sam wrapped tiny fingers around her hand, and gave her a look of such understanding it almost broke her heart.  His eyes were ancient in that moment.  It seemed wrong on a face so young.

“Don’t worry, mom,” he said lightly.  “Dean would kill me if I died before he gets the chance to make me cook.”

“Wouldn’t stick, anyway,” a groggy voice said behind them.  Dean made a bee-line for the coffee.

Mary smiled and shook her head at seeing him in t-shirt, robe, flannel pants, and boots.  _Baby steps, I guess,_ she thought.  Maybe she’d be able to coax him into slippers by next year.  Or Christmas. 

Castiel stood awkwardly in the doorway, still in his usual attire. 

 _Damn angels,_ Mary frowned.  His clothes weren’t wrinkled.  But she knew he never changed them.  _This won’t do._

“Alright, angels,” she said, looking pointedly at Castiel and Raphael.  “If you want to participate in the day’s festivities, you gotta change.”

“Change?” Raphael asked.  Castiel looked down at his trench coat, and Mary was relieved he at least understood she meant clothes. 

“Pajamas or bust, mister,” Mary said firmly.  She gestured at Gabriel.  “He can help you figure out what to do.”

Gabriel snapped, changing the other two’s apparel without warning.  Castiel seemed to marvel at the soft flannel pants—a blue version of Dean’s green set, complete with matching robe.  Luckily, he left the seraph barefoot instead of forcing him into identical boots. 

Raphael blinked at the change.  His usual white dashiki tunic and pants were now royal purple with gold embroidery, and looked soft as satin.  Mary was surprised at how _conservative_ Gabriel decided to go.

She looked to the younger archangel and found him grinning slyly.  “We’ll have to ease those two into more fabulous PJs.  Don’t worry, I haven’t lost my sense of style.  I’ll have them in the ugliest Christmas sweaters I can find next month.”  He smoothed his hands over his own chosen set of sleepwear.  It looked like someone had taken a simple set of cotton pants and long-sleeved shirt and tie-dyed them with every color available. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t put _them_ in a onesie,” Sam scoffed.

“Christmas,” Gabriel whispered.

“Why would you make them wear ugly sweaters?” Mary asked.

Dean snorted as he took the seat across from them.  “Welcome to the new millennium.  Ugly Christmas sweaters are a thing now.  Personally, I think all Christmas sweaters look ugly.”

“God, I can’t remember the last time we actually celebrated Christmas,” Sam said.  “It wasn’t the year before…?”

“What?!  No, it couldn’t have been that long ago.”  Dean shook his head, frowning as he thought it over.

“Dare I ask, ‘year before what?’”  Mary looked between the two boys, but neither met her gaze.  The angels all looked confused too when she turned to them for an answer.

Dean cleared his throat.  “Uh, the year before my deal was up.  Sam did his best to recreate our usual elaborate spread one last time.”

“I think we went to a strip club a year or two ago,” Sam said absently.

Dean spit his coffee all over the table.  “Dude!” he yelled, half choked and coughing.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me,” Sam shot back, pushing a puddle of coffee back at his brother who shot back in his chair.  “‘Dude’ _you_!  You just sprayed coffee all over us!”

“Yeah, well _you_ just told Mom I took you to a strip club for Christmas!”

“What, so I should lie and say we did something normal?  We don’t even know what ‘normal’ people do on Christmas, Dean!”

“Okay, you two!” Mary stopped them before it turned ugly.  “There will be no fighting today, understood?  No yelling.  No stabbing with utensils.  And let’s keep the name calling to a minimum.  Got it?”

Dean nodded hastily, his face beet-red with embarrassment.  Sam continued to glare at his brother until Mary turned his face toward her.  As soon as their eyes met, all the fight drained away. 

“Got it,” Sam said.

It was going to be a long day. 

* * *

They ate a light breakfast of leftovers before getting to work.  Mary placed the angels in charge of decorating the library for their meal.  It was the most open and inviting space inside the bunker, and had the nicest long wooden tables.

Dean pulled out ingredients to get started, and Mary was glad they’d already worked out the general order the dishes would be cooked.  Sam watched in silence from his chair at the table.  Morpheus laid sprawled at his feet. 

“So, Sammy,” Mary started, walking over to him, “how are you at peeling potatoes?”

“No idea.”  He shrugged and stared at his hands like they were his enemies.  “I’ve only done it a few times, and never as a kid.”

“Never?” she asked, grabbing the bag of potatoes from Dean and the peeler. 

“Not a lot of potato peeling opportunities when you’re living in a motel,” Dean said.  His voice held a slight edge of warning, though he didn’t look up from the marinade he was mixing. 

They had talked multiple times about the boys’ childhoods during the hours Sam spent training.  Mary recognized Dean’s attempt at steering the conversation away from darker topics.  She decided to respect his lead—for now. 

“Well, today is the day you’ll make up for lost time!”  The ten-pound bag of potatoes looked bigger than Sam when she placed them in front of him.  Luckily, the peeler was small and easily fit in his hand. 

“How many do I need to peel?”

“All of them,” Dean answered.

“Seriously?”  Sam looked ready to chuck the giant brown root at Dean’s head.

Mary brought the tall garbage can over beside his chair.  “Trust me,” she said before Dean could say something snarky.  “Once they’re boiled and mashed, we won’t have ten pounds anymore.” 

She watched Sam carefully begin, a look of intense concentration on his face.  Satisfied that he’d be occupied for a while, she moved to help Dean.  She felt secure in knowing that any kitchen mishaps could easily be healed by the team of overprotective angels in the next room.

They fell into an easy rhythm.  Dean usually took point in the kitchen, leading her and Castiel in their cooking efforts.  Mary didn’t mind relinquishing control.  Not when Dean obviously knew what he was doing, and loved doing it. 

Music played softly in the background, courtesy of Gabriel.  Covers of classic Christmas songs performed by artists she didn’t know.  But they were good, and she found herself humming along.

“Where do I put these when they’re done?” Sam asked, holding up a perfectly peeled potato. 

“Right in here!”  She brought him a large mixing bowl for the finished products.  “You did a great job for someone who’s never done this before.”

“Sammy’s a perfectionist,” Dean said. 

“You’re better than I am,” she confided to her youngest in a whisper.  “I can never seem to get all the peel off.  It’s probably a good thing I never cut your hair either—the only time I tried to use clippers was a disaster.”

Sam looked horrified at the prospect, wide eyes darting between her and Dean. 

“No one’s gonna cut your hair,” Dean reassured in a serious voice.  “You’re free to grow your locks out till they’re as long and flowing as you want.  Just don’t ask me to braid them, because I suck at it.”

“Oh, I wasn’t…” she glanced at Dean, but he kept his eyes on his work.  Turning back to Sam, she still saw lingering anxiety.  “I wasn’t implying you needed a haircut.  I was just saying I should never be trusted with that task if it came up.  For anyone—you, Dean, or myself!” 

Sam stared her for a second, then nodded.  “Dean’s really good with hair,” he finally said.  “I don’t know if he can trim or style long hair, but he’s as good as a barber with clippers.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to turn to him if I decide to shave it all off,” she said with a wink.

Sam snorted, the anxiety melting away.  “Don’t give him ideas.  He’s been dying to cut my hair for years now.”

“Nah,” Dean said, “I’ve been _teasing_ you about your hair for years.  But it looked good on you.”

“Don’t lie.  You just liked stealing my shampoo because I have higher standards.”

“I would never.”  Dean tried to sound offended, but his smile gave him away.

Mary went back to the counter and gathered her ingredients for the stuffing.  She’d always used Stove Top, but Dean had insisted on trying a recipe he’d found.  So, instead of a twenty-minute process, she resigned herself to at least a two-hour task.  Starting with breaking bread up into tiny pieces. 

“You know,” she said, bringing everything to the table next to Sam, “I thought for sure Sammy would be blonde.”

“Really?”  Sam asked, surprised. 

“Your hair was so light as a baby.  I’d held out hope that Dean would get my hair, but it grew darker and straighter as he got older and I knew he’d end up with John’s darker hair.  But you looked so much like me—our baby pictures were practically identical.”

“Poor mom,” Dean muttered. 

“Hey!”  Mary shot him a scowl before turning back to Sam.  “Don’t listen to him.  We were adorable babies.”

“Hmm.”  He studied her, his eyes roaming over her face and hair as though cataloguing each feature, then dropped his gaze back to the potato.  “Well, I don’t think I really had blonde hair at any point.  It was lighter than Dean’s, but never full-blown blonde.”

“You don’t think?”  How could he not know what color hair he had?

“Well, most of our family pictures were lost in the fire,” Sam explained, “and Dad wasn’t big on taking pictures.  I didn’t even know…”  He cut off mid-sentence, looking suddenly sick.

“You okay, Sam?” Mary felt all her motherly instincts rear up at once.  A glance at Dean proved useless.  He gave a shrug and shook his head, just as confused as her. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, nodding too much.

“What didn’t you know, Sam?” Dean asked in his “let us have it” voice.

“Nothing.  It doesn’t mat—”

“Sam.”  Dean drew the name out, warning his brother that he wouldn’t drop it. 

“It’s stupid,” Sam mumbled.  He stayed quiet for a minute. 

Mary and Dean waited him out.  She doubted it was stupid—not if it was obviously upsetting him to this degree.  A hundred thoughts flew through her own mind as the seconds ticked by, but none of them prepared her for his actual words.

“I didn’t know you had blonde hair until I was eight.”

Mary blinked, confused beyond the ability to think.  She looked to Dean, hoping he had some insight into why Sam would say something so silly.  But instead of uncertainty, she found shame. 

“What,” she started slowly, “does that mean?”  Her hair was her trademark—the one thing that stood out to everyone she met.

“I-It was gonna be my first time staying alone while Dad took Dean on a hunt,” Sam explained.  “He told me to get some money out of his wallet for food.  A picture fell out.  You were holding me and Dean was leaning over your shoulder.  I’d always pictured you with brown hair, like us, so I asked who you were.”

Mary felt something inside her chest shatter, and she struggled to breathe around it.  She wanted to ask about John’s response.  Wanted to demand answers from John and Dean and God Himself as to how this could happen. 

But Sam’s hands were shaking around the peeler.  And Dean looked ready to crawl inside the oven.  Her need to comfort and console outweighed her desire for answers.

“Well, guess what?” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady and light.  Sam peeked nervously at her through his bangs.  “I’m here now, and you can ask me anything your heart desires.  Anything at all.  No matter how silly or weird.”

“Really?”  There was so much hope in that tiny voice.  Too much for so small a promise.

“Night or day.  If you have a question, you ask it.”  She ran her fingers through his hair, needing to touch him.  To reassure herself that he was right there in front of her.  “You and I still have a lot to learn about each other.  For instance, I don’t know your favorite ice cream flavor.”

A smile ghosted across his lips.  “Mint chocolate.”

“No!” Mary gasped.  “That’s _my_ favorite.”  Tears filled her eyes even as she grinned.  All she wanted was to have something in common with her youngest that wasn’t linked to death or demon deals—even if it was ice cream.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed.  “Dean says it’s like eating toothpaste, but I like it.”

Dean cleared his throat.  “Because it is.  You’re both weirdos.”

“I’m okay with that,” Mary said with a grin.  She ruffled his hair once more, then took his bowl of potatoes back to the counter.  There was another boy she needed to check on.

Dean tried to take the bowl from her, but she set it out of his reach.  His eyes were red, but there were no sign of tears.  He had too much practice hiding them. 

“I’m a weirdo, huh?”

“Yup.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, what’s your favorite flavor, Mr. Normal?” she asked, taking advantage of his exposed side to dig her fingers into his armpit.  It had been his most ticklish spot as a little boy.  And still was, if the high-pitched squeal he gave was any indication.  “What could possibly be better than cool mint with chunks of chocolate?”

“Anything!” Dean backed into the counter and ended up trapped. 

“Anything?  Really?”  Mary let sarcasm infuse her voice as she reached for his other side, surprising another squeak out of him.

“Fine!  Butter pecan!” he laughed, batting at her hands. 

“Is that your final answer?” She wriggled her fingers threateningly at him.

“Yes!  Yes!  Butter pecan, final answer.”

Mary sighed.  “I guess that’ll do.”  She tugged him forward into a hug, whispering, “I love you.  You know that?”

“Not sure why sometimes,” he said under his breath.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me around now,” she squeezed him tighter, “so I can explain it to you in detail every single day until you understand.”

Dean looked torn between horror and delight.

Mary kissed his cheek.  “Now, you better get that turkey cooking, or dinner will be late.  You haven’t even started your pies.”

That got Dean moving. 

Mary grabbed a new bowl for Sam to fill with the remaining potatoes and returned to the table.  No one said anything for a while after that.  The music filled the silence, accompanied by the sound of chopping, peeling, and stirring.  Mary tore up the bread, wishing it was John’s face.

“Hey, Mom?”  Sam’s voice cut through her violent thoughts after several minutes.

“Yes, baby?” she responded, unable to keep herself from using the affectionate term.  It was worth it to see the light flush of pleasure across her son’s cheeks.

“Um, why are we all wearing pajamas?”

“Oh.”  She’d forgotten all about that now.  Her last Thanksgiving had been spent wearing new sleepwear to compensate for her growing belly.  She’d been almost four months pregnant, and full of hope.  “Well, your Dad and I didn’t have a lot of family traditions to carry on, so we made our own.”

“Really?” Sam looked at her with bright eyes, hungry for any scrap of history.  “Like what?”

“Like pajama dress-codes for all holidays.  We’d watch ‘White Christmas’ on Christmas Eve, and pick one present for each of us to open.  And instead of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ we’d listen to ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ by Queen.”

“Oh my God,” Dean laughed.

“Yeah,” she winced, “probably not the best choice in hindsight.”

“What else?” Sam asked eagerly.

Mary settled into her chair, and told him stories of his own family.  The family he never knew.  The father and brother and mother he never knew.

Handmade ornaments made each year for the tree.  How John always made his out of scrap car parts, welded with care in the garage.  How she’d planned on making molds of Sammy’s handprints and letting him paint them for his first ornament. 

Stories turned to other holidays.  Fourth of July was for camping in remote areas, away from the fireworks that set off John’s memories of war.  Valentine’s Day had a strict rule of “no flowers or candy or cards,” and instead was spent slow-dancing in the living room.  They planted something new in the yard every Easter—a tree one year, a rosebush the next. 

“We tried to think of little things we could do together.  Things that didn’t cost a lot of money, and would mean something to us.”  She wondered if the tree and rosebush had survived the fire. 

It took her a moment to realize the sounds of food preparation had ceased.  Sam’s eyes were enormous, barely blinking or breathing as he listened.  Dean’s face rested on his palm as he leaned forward, his elbows on the counter. 

“Keep going, you two!” she said with a laugh, pleased with their reactions.  “We’re never going to finish at this rate.”

Mary stood, bringing her bowl of bread chunks over to the counter.

“I can’t believe Dad made ornaments for a Christmas tree,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“I actually had to reinforce the ‘one ornament per year’ limit on him.  Every single year, he’d come home with several.  I made him pick one, and he gave the others away as presents.”  She remembered the horribly misshapen lumps of metal from their first year together.  “He’d already started working on them for Christmas before the fire.  He wanted to make two—one for each of his boys.”

“Are we going to make ornaments this year?” Sam asked. 

“Of course!  Why wouldn’t we?”  Mary stole the celery from Dean’s side of the island and began chopping it into tiny pieces. 

“I don’t know.  We’ve never done Christmas in the bunker.  Or anywhere, really.”  Sam shrugged.  “I don’t know much about decorating a tree.”

"Yeah, last time you did it, you covered it in air fresheners.  Pine tree air fresheners,” Dean laughed.  “You decorated a tree with tiny trees.”

“Well, excuse me!  If I remember correctly, your preferred method was stealing a decorated tree.”

“One time, Sam.  One time.”  Dean threw a chunk of celery at the boy.  It bounced off Sam’s shoulder and landed in the floor.  Morpheus raised his head and ate it, just like he’d done with each potato peel that went astray. 

“No one is stealing a tree this year,” Mary reassured.  “I’m sure between myself and the angels, we can handle getting a tree of our own and decorating it.”

“I may have to add an air freshener, just for old time’s sake,” Dean whispered loudly. 

Mary sighed, but nodded.  She couldn’t imagine her boys, _these_ boys, never decorating a tree.  Dean was almost forty!  How did that happen? 

“So, I know holidays weren’t the greatest,” she began tentatively, “but did you have any traditions you’d like to incorporate?  Or something you did one year that you liked but didn’t get to do again?”

Her question was met with a stretch of silence.  Dean finished preparing the turkey and set it to cook in the device he’d bought the week before.  Without a word, he got the pie dough from the fridge and began rolling the first one out.  Sam just stared at the potato in his hand, lost in thought.

“I think,” Dean started slowly, “that the only ‘good’ holidays we had were spent with other families.”

Sam made a noise and his hand slipped with the peeler, catching his thumb instead of the potato.  Mary dropped everything, and looked for a towel.  But Dean was already around the counter and looking at the damage.

“That wasn’t…I wasn’t calling you out, you idiot,” he said gently.  “Mom, can you go get one of the angels?  This isn’t deep, but it’ll hurt to hold anything if we just clean and wrap it.” 

Mary knew they could just pray to the angels and they’d be there instantly.  But Dean’s eyes were desperate, and she understood he needed a minute with his brother.  She nodded and left, longing for the day when they could have a conversation without pain. 

 _God, can’t I give them just one fucking day where they don’t have to worry?  Can’t You?_ she prayed angrily.  _I know healing isn’t easy, but we aren’t exactly dealing with a scraped knee here._

The day already had too many highs and lows for her to count, and every moment seemed fraught with emotional disaster.  It was like navigating a minefield.  She paused outside the library, wiping the moisture from her face.  Once semi-presentable, Mary turned the corner and walked through the entrance—and froze, panic twisting her stomach. 

The room was a disaster.  Mismatched decorations seemed to have exploded along the walls, ceiling, and bookshelves.  The tables were pushed to the sides with chairs haphazardly piled on top.  The angels stood at ground zero, arguing loudly.  And everything was covered in glitter.

“What the actual Hell?” she asked slowly.

All three angels instantly stopped fighting and turned to her.  Gabriel had Christmas lights wrapped around his arms, all lit even though they weren’t plugged into anything.  Raphael wielded a branch of holly like a sword.  And Castiel looked like he’d taken the brunt of a glitter bomb—the air shimmered around him when he turned toward her, causing a cloud of the stuff to fly off him. 

“I can explain!” Gabriel said.  The multicolor lights all started blinking. 

“There is no explanation for your lack of taste!” Raphael said, poking Gabriel with the branch.

Castiel sighed, blowing more glitter off his face.  “I believe they are having ‘artistic differences’ over how to decorate.”  Bursts of color bloomed around the air quotes, like tiny fireworks. 

“Well, work them out and get this cleaned up!  We can’t eat if the tables are covered in chairs and glitter.  It doesn’t have to be perfect—just nice!” 

“Is everything alright?  Did you need us for something?” Raphael asked, concern coloring his voice.

“Actually, Sam cut himself on a potato peeler,” was all she managed to say before all three angels began moving toward the doorway.  “Wait!  No one leaves this room until the glitter is gone.  You’ll leave a trail through the bunker, and Dean will stab everyone if a single speck touches the food.”

“Why didn’t you pray?”  Gabriel asked, snapping away the mess.  The tables returned to their normal positions with the decorations neatly stacked in the center. 

“Because he wanted the chance to talk to Sam without me there,” Mary huffed. 

Understanding lit in the archangel’s eyes.  “Are they having a tough time with all of this?”

“Aren’t we all?” she countered, then scrubbed at her face before more tears could form.  “They know nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , about who we were as a family before I died.  And every time I tell them something new, it’s like I’m entering a minefield.  I can see how much it hurts them to hear about the John I remember.  But they keep asking for more—especially Sam.”

“What happened?” Raphael asked.

Mary gave him a brief run down of the conversation that led to Sam slicing his hand.  She saw Castiel wince.  “What?” she asked the seraph.  “What do you know?”

Castiel sighed, and told her about her sons’ experience in Heaven during the Apocalypse.  “Dean was quite angry to find Sam in a memory of spending Thanksgiving with strangers.  He did not understand that Zachariah was controlling their Heaven—emphasizing Dean’s love of family and Sam’s desire for normalcy.  Dean resented Sam for a long time.  I do not know if they ever discussed it afterwards.”

“I’d say not, if their reactions were anything to go by,” Mary said.  “Do you think they’ve had enough time to talk it over?  I don’t want to barge back in, but I couldn’t see how bad the cut was either.”

“I’ll go,” Castiel said, surprising her by taking charge.  “I am capable of healing a simple cut.  And I have first-hand knowledge of the issue they are discussing.  It may be less awkward.  Meanwhile, please give these two guidance on how you wish the room to be arranged.  I fear we will be eating in the kitchen otherwise.”

He sent a quick glare to his older brothers before leaving the room.  It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been wearing a robe and slippers.  At least the robe still twirled the same as the trench coat.

“Alright, you two,” Mary said with her hands on her hips.  “Let’s discuss these artistic differences and get this done.”

Both archangels turned, stopping her tirade with concerned looks.  Raphael pressed a warm palm to her cheek and tutted.  “Decorating can wait.”

“What’s wrong, Mary?” Gabriel asked, gently taking her hand.

“What _isn’t_ wrong?”  Mary let out a laugh that turned into a sob.  She managed to tell them of Sam’s confession and Dean’s reaction.  “It’s so much worse than anything I imagined,” she cried into Raphael’s tunic.  “And I’ve imagined _awful_ things!  How do I fix this?  How do I even start?”

“By doing exactly what you did,” Gabriel answered.  “You’re filling in the blank spaces—both past and present.  You’re giving him the history he never knew, and being the parent he still needs today.”

Raphael rubbed her back.  “Their wounds are deep and old, and some must be reopened before they can heal properly.  The fact that they feel safe enough to voice these things to you is a miracle.  Both of your sons have come so far in a short period of time—and your presence is a heavy factor in their progress.”

“God, how do you always know what to say?  You’re like a poet,” Mary sniffed and stepped back to wipe her face.

“Hey!  I thought I was supposed to be the Messenger with fancy words, bro.  Quit stealing my best lines,” Gabriel teased. 

“Then perhaps you should not keep changing the simple messages entrusted to you,” Raphael said with a raised brow. 

“You’re no fun.”  Gabriel pushed Raphael out of his way and studied Mary’s face.  “Let’s clean you up, okay mama?  Can’t go back in there with a blotchy face.” 

He held her face and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.  Mary’s skin tingled as cool, refreshing energy swept over her.  The itchiness disappeared, and her eyes no longer felt swollen.  She could even breathe freely.

“There.  Much better, if I do say so myself.”

“Thanks,” Mary said, feeling lighter.  “But don’t think that this gets you out of fixing this room!”

Twenty minutes later, Mary returned to the kitchen.  The archangels had reached a compromise between traditional and modern decorating methods, and she was washing her hands of it.  Maybe the boys had the right idea in decorating with air fresheners. 

The sight that greeted her in the kitchen melted away any lingering frustration or sadness.  Dean had moved Sam onto the counter next to him and they were working on the apple pies together.  They grinned at her from flour-covered faces and she was powerless to do anything but feel joy.

“All better?” she asked.

“Yes, Cas healed the _tiny cut_ and I am no longer in danger of ‘bleeding out into our food.’” Sam gave his brother an exasperated look.  “Even though it quit bleeding before Cas even got here.”

“Hey, safety first!” Dean said. 

“Do you require any assistance with the food?” Castiel asked.  Mary hadn’t even seen him kneeling in the floor next to Morpheus.  “Or should I return to the library?”  His eyes held a spark of fear—or a piece of leftover glitter.

“I think we can put you to better use in here.”  Mary waved him toward her.  “I’m trusting you can handle cutting up sweet potatoes.”

“Yes,” he said in relief. 

“Why?  What happened in the library?”  Dean’s eyes swept Castiel from head to toe as though searching for signs of injury.  “Did those two do something?”

“Artistic differences escalated into decorative warfare,” Castiel answered. 

“What does that even mean?” Dean asked.

“It means that Raphael insisted on a traditional setting while Gabriel wanted something more,” Castiel shuddered, “ _festive._ ”

“Oh God,” Sam tried to muffle a laugh, “that sounds horrifying.”

Castiel nodded gravely.  “It was.”

“Well, you’re safe with us, buddy” Dean assured, patting the angel’s shoulder.

Sam snickered.  Mary tried to give him her sternest mom-look of warning.  But it backfired, sending Sam into louder laughter. 

“What is wrong with you?”  Dean looked at his brother, completely flabbergasted by the boy’s giggles.  “Did I miss something?”

“No, no, everything’s cool.  _Buddy._ ”  Sam sobered himself suspiciously fast.  “He’s safer with you, and you’re safer with him.  We’re all safer, in fact.  Safety in numbers.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.  “Are you drunk?”

“I wish,” Sam said wistfully.

“That is not advisable,” Castiel said.  “It requires a massive amount of alcohol for an angel to become intoxicated and we do not know how it would affect one such as yourself.”

“It was a joke, Cas.”  Sam tossed a piece of apple at the angel.  “Besides, I don’t think I could physically drink a liquor store like _some_ angels.”

Castiel caught it easily, and returned it to the bowl. 

“Don’t you start with your brother,” Mary whispered in Sam’s ear, “I just stopped two other brothers from destroying the bunker.  I’m not doing it again in the kitchen.” 

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”  Dean demanded.

“I believe it concerns our sleeping arrangements last night,” Castiel said. 

“What?!”  Dean flushed.  “How…I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Dean.”  Sam’s voice held no traces of teasing.  “Really.  I’m happy for you, okay?”

“Happy for what?” Dean asked, trying to sound confused.  But it came out panicked.

Mary regretted saying anything to anyone that morning.  She had no idea what Sam and Dean’s stances were on sexuality.  It hadn’t been a topic of conversation.  Her own generation had been either violently opposed to gays or extremely accepting—the hippie movement had tackled more than just the Vietnam War and the music industry.  And while she knew this modern era had advanced with things like gay marriage, it still wasn’t accepted by everyone. 

Sam scooted forward on the counter, maneuvering to sit in front of his brother.  “Calm down, idiot.  I’m happy that the two people I’ve loved the most in this world are maybe going to stop dancing around each other and me.”

“Sammy, nothing happened!” Dean’s voice cracked. 

“Nothing _has_ to ‘happen.’  I’m just happy that you let him stay with you last night,” Sam sighed and pushed his hair back from his face.  “You have no idea how frustrating it’s been these past few years.  How many times I watched you let Cas leave here, knowing that you preferred he stay.  How many times you two pushed one another away in the name of keeping each other safe.  How many times I wished you’d both just suck it up and admit that you’d rather be by each other’s side than apart!”

Castiel frowned.  “I did not know you felt that way, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to say anything.  It wasn’t my place.  But I preferred having you here too.”  Sam gave the seraph a half-smile.  “Safety in numbers, right?”

“Dude, you should have said something,” Dean muttered.

“Yeah, right.  You can barely look at me right now, and Cas isn’t even in danger of leaving!”  Sam scoffed, then a flash of worry crossed his face and he turned to Castiel.  “Right?”

Castiel’s face softened at the sight of Sam’s distress.  “I promise I am not leaving.”

“I’m just glad you have a reason to stay.”  Sam’s shoulders sagged in relief.  “Beyond the fact that you have to protect the new…kid, or whatever.  You deserve to have your own reason.”

Mary moved to the side, and took over Castiel’s work on the sweet potatoes.  Dean resumed rolling out the dough and patting them into pie pans, but his attention stayed riveted on the two.  He offered no illusion of privacy—Dean was part of this conversation.

“Sam, I do not stay simply because you need protection.  And I have seen you as a brother since before you became a literal sibling.  I would have stayed even if Chuck had not changed you.”  He took Sam’s hand, inspecting the place he’d healed.  “But our lives would not be the same.  We would all three be hunting Lucifer.  All four, if we included your mother.  And we may not have Gabriel and the others back either, which means Heaven would still be weak and scattered.”

“Making me an angel didn’t fix Heaven, Cas,” Sam looked embarrassed at the very thought.  “And I just meant that it was good…”

“That I have a reason to stay?” Castiel raised a brow.  “Do you think our lives would have slowed down enough for us to realize that reason if we were hunting right now?  The fact that we are dedicating an entire day to food and relaxation instead of preparing weapons means that we all have the chance now—to decide what we want instead of disasters dictating our every move.”

“And you want this,” Sam asked carefully, “here, with Dean?  And me, and mom?”

“My family is here.  I will not return to Heaven, even if Michael demanded it.”  Castiel’s firm tone gave no room for disbelief.   

Sam looked at Dean.  They stared at each other, exchanging silent words not even Castiel could understand.  But the angel was used to it, and patiently waited till they finished.  Finally, Dean nodded and Sam smiled at Castiel.

The boy pushed the seraph’s hands away.  “Fine.  Fine!  Go help with food before Mom reassigns you to decorations.”

Castiel leaned down, and said something to Sam in Enochian.  Mary didn’t understand the words, but they turned Sam’s face pink.  Then, Castiel spoke again and Sam tried kicking the angel away with his feet.

“No!” Sam yelled, and Mary dropped her knife in surprise.  “No, I do not need details!  Go away!”

Castiel smirked and returned to the sweet potatoes.  He picked up Mary’s knife, still grinning at her startled expression.  “I believe I can take it from here.”

“Right,” she said, still dazed by the whole exchange.  _I gotta learn Enochian._

* * *

Dinner was a masterpiece.  Mary sat at the table, exhausted and full of food and cheer.  She couldn’t remember being more content.

The turkey and ham had been perfect.  Platters of green bean casserole, sweet potatoes with marshmallows and brown sugar, mashed potatoes covered with caramelized onions, stuffing, and homemade rolls covered the center of the table alongside white and red taper candles.  But the real winners of the night were the pies—apple, pumpkin, and pecan. 

Gabriel and Raphael were engaged in a heated debate over what kind of evergreen tree to use for Christmas.  Folklore seemed to be as much a part of the discussion as the scent and texture of each species.  Listening to them bicker like normal brothers made it easy to forget they were actually big-bad archangels.

Dean kept pushing more pie on Castiel.  He insisted the angel taste every available combination of pie, ice cream, whipped cream, caramel, and whatever else he could mix them with.  Castiel obliged him, carefully tasting each bite.

 _At this rate, we won’t have any leftovers,_ Mary thought.

Most precious was the sight to her right.  Sam’s eyes had grown heavier throughout dessert, but he’d fought valiantly.  Now, his head rested against her side, one hand curled around Morpheus’ small form in his lap. 

Mary heard a “click” and looked up to find Dean taking their picture with his phone.  He turned the phone sideways and took three more, then grinned.  “Man, I’ve never had so much material to blackmail him with before.  I’m gonna be set for life if he keeps this up!”

“Keeps what up?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Cute shit,” Dean said, snapping another picture—this time of Castiel.  Then, he turned and got the archangels too. 

He’d been taking pictures throughout the evening, declaring himself their official photographer.  Mary wondered if he’d like an actual camera.  She added it to the growing list—right under “house shoes that are not combat boots.”  It was good to know that, between the archangels and the credit card scams her sons thought she knew nothing about, money wasn’t an issue.

“Should we put him in his bed?  Or…?” Gabriel looked at them, hopeful someone would pick the “or” option. 

“Or the ‘nest’ you made?” she asked, only slightly teasing. 

Castiel had let the term slip one day in the kitchen.  Once Dean had quit laughing, he’d explained that angels tended to create nests in Heaven—a space carved out for their flock to rest away from the main flock.  Technically, the communal bedroom would be considered a nest-within-a-nest, with the entire bunker being considered their flock’s space. 

Gabriel startled at her words.  “You…you…”

“…have learned quite a bit about angels recently, thank you very much,” Mary finished for him.  She looked to Dean, silently asking his opinion.  His grin softened as his eyes shifted to the lightly snoring boy beside her, and he nodded. 

“Yeah.  He shouldn’t wake up alone in the morning.”

Mary relaxed.  She didn’t want to wake up alone either.  “Do you want to get him settled while we clean this up?”  There was no way she could pick him up without waking him—not at the angle they were sitting. 

Gabriel snapped, and the food all disappeared.  The table was spotless, but still decorated.  “There,” he said smugly, “no more work today.”

Dean expertly scooped Sam and Morpheus out of their chair and carried them to the bedroom.  Mary followed with the angels close behind.  Her feet and back ached from all the cooking they’d done, but it was a good ache. 

She felt like weeping at the sight of ‘her’ bed—the luxurious twin mattress tucked in the corner of the room right next to the larger bed where the boys slept.  It had only been one night, but it felt like an eternity since they’d all been together in here.  Mary sank into the softness, unable to stop the groan as her muscles relaxed. 

“You sure you don’t want your own room?” Gabriel teased. 

“I’m not moving and you can’t make me,” Mary sighed, stretching out on top of the covers.  “I ate too much and everything hurts, and I think this has been the best day ever.”

“Are you in pain?” Raphael asked, coming over to sit on the side of her bed.  He raised two fingers to her forehead.  “May I?”

“Yes, please!”  She knew how stiff all her joints would be by morning.  “But I’m still not moving.  Even if you zapped me with enough energy to run a marathon.”

Raphael chuckled, and brushed his fingertips across her brow.  Warmth flowed through her, like sinking into a hot bath.  It eased her joints and muscles, making her feel heavy and boneless.  “There is no need for running—only sleep.”

Sleep called to her, pulling at the edges of consciousness, and she almost allowed it.  But something else remained before she could go.  Reaching up, Mary clasped Raphael’s hand before he moved away. 

“Thank you, Raphael.  You’re such a kind and gentle soul.  Or angel.  You’ve healed more than just our physical wounds.”

Raphael looked surprised.  “You do not need to thank me, Mary.  I do it gladly.”

“But it’s Thanksgiving.  You’re supposed to say what makes you thankful.”  She looked at Gabriel where he’d flopped on the couch by the foot of her bed.  “Thank you, Gabriel, for always saying what we _need_ to hear, and not just the words we want.  Even if you change the messages around on occasion.”

Gabriel blushed fiercely and scooted down on the couch.  For once, he was at a loss for words.  Mary took that as a compliment. 

“And Castiel—I have so much to thank you for, I don’t know where to start.”  He opened his mouth, an objection clearly on his tongue, so she pushed forward without letting him interrupt.  “So, I’ll just say thank you for loving my boys.  And being there when they had no one else in this world.”

Castiel’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.  After a second, he simply nodded and bent down to kiss her forehead.  Dean’s hand appeared on his shoulder, pulling him back gently. 

“Alright, you.  It’s my turn,” Dean said.  Mary grinned, ready to tell him all the ways he made her thankful.  But he cut her off.  “Nope, I said it’s my turn and I don’t normally do this shit, so shush.”  He knelt by her bed, taking a deep breath.  “Thank you, mom, for giving us the best Thanksgiving we’ve _never_ dreamed of having.  And for being amazing.  Not everyone would come back from the dead and take up mothering two virtual strangers, even if they were her kids.  But you did, and I want you to know that it means the world—to me and Sammy.”

“Dean…”  Mary felt pure joy rise up, threatening to drown her. 

“Nope, chick flick over!”  Dean gave her a quick peck on the cheek and stood up, his knees popping.

Raphael stood waiting with his fingers raised.  It was a testament to both Dean’s newfound trust in the angels and his degree of exhaustion that he only considered the offer for a few seconds before nodding.  Mary watched as the effect washed over him, and all his muscles relaxed at once. 

“Thanks, Doc,” he muttered, patting the archangel’s shoulder as he stumbled toward the bed. 

Castiel was already laying down in his usual place.  Mary could barely see Sam curled around Morpheus in the middle.  It took Dean only a moment to get under the covers, and then he was asleep. 

One of the angels silently turned off the lights, and that was all it took for Mary to follow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FORGOT TO ADD THIS!  
> The Enochian translation of what Castiel whispers to Sam...here's my note to @ScrollingKingfisher:  
> I picture that Cas says something sappy first...about how Sam AND Dean have both given him reason to stay...and then something along the lines of "Should I elaborate on my reasons for your brother? You seem to need convincing..."


	7. And So, Please Help Them With Your Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my betas, @NathyFaith and @ScrollingKingfisher, for all the help they give me every single day.  
> AND I'd like to welcome my newest beta to the team: @UmbraeCalamitas (aka @talkingtomyselfagain on Tumblr)!  
> All of you have talked me off ledges...both for this story, and in life <3<3<3  
> I am forever in your debts!
> 
> Also, check out @UmbraeCalamitas' side story for the BTGOG!verse, "Siren's Lullaby." You can find it in my bookmarks and under Related Works!! 
> 
> NOW, strap on your helmets and grab your comfort blankets...IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE!!  
> TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions past child abuse

_I wish this could last forever,_ Sam thought when he woke the next morning.  He’d curled toward Castiel at some point in the night.  The seraph’s grace glowed with contentment like a beacon of peace.  The effect was so strong it left no room for embarrassment when Sam realized how close they were. 

That serenity echoed from the other sleepy souls and grace in the room.  But Sam knew it was too good to last—not with a Winchester’s luck.  And he was right. 

The calm shattered by breakfast.  Gabriel casually announced they would begin flying lessons the following week—with the assistance of the angel guard.  His words were met with silence until Dean exploded.

Sam watched, speechless, as Dean bluntly voiced all his worst fears. 

“What if they decide Sam’s a threat and they smite him?  Or they get sick of perching in our treetops and smite us all so they can go home?  And why does Sammy need to learn flying now anyway?  That seems a bit more advanced than the shit he’s done so far!  I mean, he almost blew up the bunker making a little ball of light _this week!!_ ”

The intense questioning and debate lasted over two hours.  Gabriel reassured Dean that Sam would be completely safe the entire time—both with flying and the angel strangers. Mary and Castiel occasionally raised their own concerns, but it was hard for anyone else to get a word in around Dean.  But the issue was still brought up daily until Sam couldn’t take it anymore.   

By Sunday, he locked himself and Morpheus away in the quiet seclusion of his old room, only coming out for meals and scheduled grace-work.  The stack of books by his bedside multiplied with each passing day.  His grasp of Enochian grammar and vocabulary also expanded.  _No angel will take me seriously if I sound like a baby._   

By Tuesday, Sam was sleeping less than four hours.  Nightmares broke up those hours into smaller segments.  _Angels aren’t supposed to sleep anyway,_ he told himself in Wednesday’s pre-dawn hours. 

He passed restless nights devouring Raphael’s books from Heaven.  The books began as a means of avoidance—a habit he’d picked up long before Stanford.  The fact that his brain now absorbed information at an unprecedented rate didn’t hurt. 

Perfect recall meant Sam only had to read something once, but it didn’t guarantee understanding.  He kept a notebook full of questions.  Sam went over them with Raphael whenever tensions in the bunker rose. 

By Thursday, he’d finished four books and started a second notebook.  Dark smudges became permanent features on his fingertips and under his eyes.  The others tried to hide their stares over breakfast, but the lack of conversations made their glances even more obvious. 

Sam didn’t care.  He didn’t have the energy to care.  There was barely enough energy for his usual morning run. 

 _This is getting ridiculous, pup._   Morpheus’ voice held the edge of a growl.  The canine trotted along the footpath, remaining close to keep Sam from stumbling.  It was a full-time job in his current state.

“Running isn’t ridiculous,” Sam mumbled, breathing hard. 

_Gabriel said he’d make you wear a helmet if he has to heal another head injury from a fall._

Sam ran faster without answering.  Nervous energy thrummed through his body.  It had left him dizzy and short of breath before he’d gone running.  Now, it fueled his steps. 

If only he could run fast enough to escape the approaching afternoon.  They were all supposed to be introduced to the unknown angels guarding the bunker.  And then fly around the yard, or something.  Sam hadn’t paid much attention past the “meet other angels” portion of the announcement. 

 _Pup!  Stop, Sam!_   Morpheus’ warning barely registered over Sam’s own thoughts.  But the canine’s teeth snatched the bottom hem of his jacket from behind, abruptly ending their run.

“What the hell!?” Sam snapped as he landed hard on the ground. 

Morpheus planted himself in front of Sam, his steely blue eyes holding a rare level of seriousness.  _You are not paying attention,_ he scolded.

Sam glowered back.  “I’m _running!_   You don’t just knock me on my ass because I’m not listening!”

 _I didn’t stop you because you weren’t listening,_ Morpheus huffed.  _You are not paying attention to your route.  Where are you going?_

Sam looked around—they weren’t on the path.  Panicked, he scanned the woods for anything familiar.  It took him a moment to spot the cleared path several yards back.  He’d failed to take the turn that looped back toward the bunker, and continued his sprint into the woods.  

“I-I’ve never done that before,” Sam said, still stunned.  His chest hurt from forcing cold air through tight lungs.  It made his face burn and sinuses drain. 

Morpheus shoved his face closer, and Sam made himself stay still.  Bracing for a staring contest he’d never win, the feel of fur against his forehead was unexpected.  The canine pressed a cheek to Sam’s skin, like a mother’s hand checking a temperature. 

Sam tolerated it, knowing he couldn’t evade his guardian’s fussing.  But it didn’t stop a mumbled, “I’m not sick.”

 _You are freezing and drenched in sweat._   With practiced ease, he gently grasped the hood between teeth and pulled it over Sam’s hair.  _And I am not ignorant to how little sleep you’re getting._

Sam winced.  He’d hoped the canine wouldn’t notice.  “It’s just been the last night or two.”

Blue eyes narrowed.

“Or three,” Sam amended.  Cold from the ground seeped into his legs and made them ache.  He needed to get up before they cramped. 

As though sensing his intent, Morpheus laid down next to Sam without warning.  _No more running for today.  Up, pup.  You need to rest before this afternoon._

They were only halfway through their usual morning routine.  Sam stared at the soft inviting fur, torn between finishing his run and longing to be warm.  The decision was made for him.

_Up.  Or I will tell Gabriel to postpone his plans because you’re too tired._

“That’s blackmail,” Sam grumbled.  Part of him wished they could postpone—by about ten years or so.  But this was important, and the archangels were excited. 

A hard, cold shiver made him resign to his fate and move.  It took the last of his energy to climb the canine, but he eventually got situated.  Heat pricked the skin of his legs painfully.  Sam rubbed his hands over his jeans to get rid of the sensation.

_Lay forward.  You need to warm up._

“I’m fine.”  A bushy tail smacked the back of Sam’s head before he finished speaking.  It knocked him face-first into fur.  “Hey!”

Morpheus stood and started moving.  Sam dug his hands and knees into the canine’s back to keep his balance. 

 _Be still,_ Morpheus said, but it was an unnecessary order.  Sam’s muscles felt heavy with heat and fatigue—there was no way he’d remain seated if he tried to shift upright again. 

“You’re grumpy.”  Sam frowned, hated hearing the petulance in his own voice.

There was a quiet pause.  _I am frustrated,_ Morpheus replied quietly, _because my charge does not sleep through the night._

“Sorry.”  Sam stared at the passing trees, guilt twisting in his stomach.  “I don’t know what’s…”

_And he does not turn to me or others for assistance.  He insists on staying awake and reading without even trying to return to sleep.  I don’t think he understands that, as his guardian, I wake with him.  I wake, and I wait for him to talk to me, and I watch as he sits in silence._

“Morpheus, I didn’t realize…”

 _And when I try to express my concerns, he tells me he’s fine.  He is more upset about my loss of sleep than his own._ Morpheus twists his head around, pinning Sam with his gaze.  _And he called me “grumpy.”_

Sam sighed.  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

_He apologizes because he feels responsible, but does nothing to change the situation._

“Please stop talking about me in third person.”  It felt like he was listening in on a conversation without participating.  Then, he considered the uncomfortable truth of Morpheus’ words.  He and Dean often apologized as a means of ending an argument—conceding without actual closure or resolution.  “How do I change the situation?”

_Talk to me._

“About what?”

_Tell me about the dreams that wake you up and drive you to do everything possible to prevent yourself returning to them._

Sam hated dreaming.  Too often, his brain took memories and twisted them.  Faces and events became repainted with brighter colors and darker fears.  Nightmares had plagued him since early childhood, but they’d grown far more intense now that he had grace.

Dreams of John had become a nightly event for the past two weeks—since Raphael’s first visit to Heaven.  

Some were pleasant memories of moments long-forgotten.  A rare day spent in a park, playing frisbee with the sound of his dad’s laugh echoing through the trees.  A night they got snowed in at a motel and John read them stories as they laid curled up under a pile of blankets.  He’d wake up feeling desperate and emotional, wishing he could remain in the dream a moment longer.

But they were overshadowed by nightmares.  Events that had not simply faded from his memory due to time, but that he’d intentionally boxed up and shoved into dark corners.  And now, those boxes were all open, spilling out without rhyme or reason. 

Last night had opened a particularly bad box—his father’s reaction to Sam’s first time running away.  “ _You want to run so bad?  Well, you better start now—five miles, every morning for the next month.  Run away again, and you won’t be able to walk for a week.”_   John had followed him each morning for three days, a belt clutched in his hand as a silent reminder.

Sam buried his face between Morpheus’ shoulder blades.  “I don’t…I can’t talk about them,” he finally said. 

Mary had been in a pre-Christmas frenzy all week.  Each nightmare seemed like a betrayal of the stories she shared of a father he’d never known.  A stranger who welded ornaments and slow-danced in the living room and accidentally melted a grill the first time he made steak. 

_Can’t?  Or won’t?_

The thought of describing the dreams out-loud made Sam’s throat tighten.  “Can’t,” he croaked.  “Not yet.”  _Not ever._

Morpheus sighed noisily, but nodded.  _How do you feel about the plan for this afternoon?_

Sam weighed his options.  Meeting new angels was pretty high on his list of Things That Seem Like Bad Ideas.  It brought up an entirely different set of baggage that began the moment Castiel first took his hand and called him “the boy with the demon blood.”  On the other hand, it was still an easier subject to tackle than his father.

“I don’t have the best history with angels,” Sam said. 

 _From what I know of your past, I believe that is a vast understatement._  

Sam closed his eyes.  The rhythmic movement of Morpheus’ steps helped him relax.  Being small again may make him vulnerable, but it also gave him moments where he could bask in the safety provided by someone much larger. 

“Angels hated me before I even knew they existed.”  Sam crossed his ankles over Morpheus’ lower back and used his arms as a pillow.  “They saw me as an abomination.  But they really just confirmed what I’d already known for years—that something was wrong with me.  I felt dirty as a kid.”

_Because of the demon blood?_

“I guess.  Yeah, it was just something I felt.  Anyway,” Sam cleared his throat and tried to stay focused, “it took a long time for Cas to see me as more than just Lucifer’s intended vessel.  But until now, I didn’t have any other angel allies.  Gabriel might have eventually joined Team Free Will, but he died saving us before that could happen.”  He gave a humorless laugh.  “Most angels end up dead around us.  Dean has a collection of angel blades.”

_You believe the angels protecting the bunker are untrustworthy?_

“No!  I…I don’t know.”  He tried to shrug, but his muscles wouldn’t obey.  “Gabe and Raphael trust them.  Cas hasn’t said anything, but he’s got his own issues with other angels.  They don’t like him either.” 

 _What is your worst-case scenario for today?_ Morpheus asked plainly, like they were reviewing battle strategies.  It uncoiled some of Sam’s tension just to know he was being taken seriously.

“Worst case?  They decide their earlier opinions of me were correct and they nuke the bunker.”  They’d probably lure the archangels away on orders from Michael beforehand.  But eradicating the Winchesters and Castiel would be pathetically easy for a small group of seraphs set on their destruction.  Dean had seen them go after Amara—they would not survive such an attack.

Morpheus stopped walking.  _Your worst-case scenario involves all of our deaths—yet you have not raised a single concern all week?_

“Who needs to raise concerns when Dean’s been screaming them on an hourly basis?  Besides, they wouldn’t dare a full-out assault with Gabriel and Raphael around.  I’ll sound the alarm if they suddenly disappear together.”  _And keep studying every book I can get my hands on,_ Sam thought to himself.

The one that currently laid hidden under his pillow detailed some defense strategies—primarily, the theoretical steps to manifesting an angel blade.  There was no way Raphael would approve of him reading it, let alone attempting any of the steps.  Sam wondered if it had been accidentally added to the pile, but he wasn’t going to chance asking and losing access to the book for the next few centuries.

A snort from Morpheus drew Sam out of his thoughts.  They started moving again.  _What is your next worst-case scenario?  One that does not end in our deaths._

Sam considered his answer.  He had worried obsessively over so many scenarios—none of which ended well.  “Umm, if we’re taking ‘certain death’ off the table, then I’m not sure.  It’s kinda a toss-up between open hostility and cold indifference.”

 _Hmm,_ Morpheus mused.  _That is understandable.  Hostility, while hard to accept, is at least honest.  Indifference can hide too many things._

“Yeah,” Sam whispered.

_What is your best-case scenario, then?_

“What?”

_What would be your perfect outcome to this meeting?_

Sam had not spared a single thought for a best-case scenario.  There was no “perfect outcome.”  There was death and not-death.

“I guess…I learn how to fly quickly and they aren’t forced to assist in other future lessons?”  

_Have you considered the possibility that these angels may like you?  That you may end up being friends?  From what I understand of angels, they take their “protective sibling” role very seriously._

“Nope—never really crossed my mind.”  He yawned, then coughed when he accidentally got a mouthful of fur.  Blinding sunlight made him blink until his eyes could focus. “Morpheus, are we,” he blinked again, “walking in circles around the yard?”

 _Yes._   The canine’s steps never slowed.

“Why?”

_I would walk in circles around this country if it keeps you speaking._

Sam swallowed the urge to argue, and insist that he’d _been_ speaking.  But that wasn’t true.  His mind had gone into overdrive about thirty seconds after breakfast a week ago, and it hadn’t slowed down.  Every time Dean rehashed the issue, it rewrote Sam’s worst-case scenario. 

He hadn’t lied—death and destruction definitely sat at the top of his list.  But there were dozens of lesser, just as devastating, paths this could go.  Most of them ended with the archangels leaving. 

Sam had to think long-term.  It might take ten or twenty years, but he knew he wouldn’t remain the center of Gabriel and Raphael’s attentions forever.  Heaven would eventually call on them or the archangels would grow restless on Earth.   

He just hoped he appeared old enough to make it alone by the time it happened. 

_You know that was supposed to encourage you to keep speaking, right?_

Sam shook his head and smiled.  “Sorry.” 

_Would you like to talk with Raphael about your concerns before the meeting?  He seems like the least likely to attract dramatics if we can get him alone._

“God, no!” Sam almost shouted.  Gabriel might be dramatic, but Raphael was tenacious.  The Healer would easily read between Sam’s words, and be persistent enough to get a full confession of his fears.  And there was no way to phrase his worries in a way that didn’t make him sound like a scared child.  “No, thank you.  I’m just tired and overthinking everything, as usual.  Dean and I were trained to prepare for the worst long before we knew how to read.  It’s an old habit—not likely to break anytime soon.”

 _Perhaps you would consider resting until the appointed time._   It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t need a nap.”

_Then I shall continue walking.  Lay back down._

“What?  No!”

_Pup, your grace is sensitive and volatile when you are rested and calm.  Do you really think “tired and overthinking everything” is a good state to be in when learning to bend time and space?_

Sam groaned in defeat.  “Fine.  I’ll go lay down.  But only if you do too, Grumpy.”

They returned to the bunker in silence—which meant they heard Dean’s raised voice as soon as they walked through the door.  The hunter had circled back to the “what if Sam falls from the sky” issue.  Gabriel and Castiel were both trying to explain that angels didn’t fly like birds, but Dean was too worked up.

By unspoken agreement, Sam and Morpheus passed the kitchen as silently as possible on their way to his room.  The canine shifted into his smaller form so Sam could carry him.  The click-clack of nails against the bunker floor would be a dead give-away. 

Sam shut his door, and sighed in relief.  Morpheus shifted again and nudged him toward the bed.  It took a minute to kick off his shoes and shed a few layers, but then he was under the covers. 

When the bed didn’t dip under Morpheus’ weight, Sam sat back up.  The canine still stood by the door.  “What are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

_I need to talk to Raphael about this afternoon, but I was waiting until you were settled._

“No!  I told you I didn’t want to talk to him.”  Sam threw the covers back.

 _Don’t you dare set one foot out of that bed, pup!_ Morpheus appeared by his side in a blink.  _You do not need to talk to the Healer-Angel.  I will not betray your confidence.  I have my own concerns, and as your safety is my priority, I need to discuss the plan in greater detail._

Sam stared at him, torn between wishing he’d never said anything and the need for reassurance that this wasn’t going to end in disaster.  Tensions were high enough in the bunker without adding in his own paranoia.  “You sure?”

_I promise.  Now lay down and rest.  I will join you as soon as I’m done.  And no reading!_

“Grumpy,” Sam muttered as he flopped back onto his pillow.

_I heard that._

Sam pulled the blanket over his head.  “Good.”

* * *

Raphael sat in the library, mentally reviewing his plans for their afternoon session.  It had been several ages since he’d last taught a fledgling to fly.  And there were so many new factors he’d never dealt with in the past. 

Fledglings were traditionally taught flight in a special section of Heaven created exclusively for training.  It had wards that kept the little ones from accidentally flying outside the zone and soft barriers that minimized injuries.  Like the Garden, the training grounds held vegetation and bright skies.

Angels called it “The Fields of Gold” for the sunlit grasses that rippled like the sea.  It was perfectly designed for its purpose.  And utterly useless for Sam.

Raphael sighed, rubbing his temples

Samuel was not ready for Heaven—and Heaven was not ready for Samuel.  Setting aside the violent histories between the Winchesters and the Host, Heaven was still in shambles and unsafe for a fledgling who could barely control his grace.  And Samuel would not welcome an audience who tried to shower him in attention. 

The sound of nails clicking against the floor drew Raphael’s attention to the doorway in time to see Morpheus enter.  When Samuel did not appear, Raphael sat up straighter.  The two were rarely separated for any reason. 

“Hello, Morpheus.”

 _Hello, Healer._   Morpheus sniffed at the dwindling pile of books on the table, his nose wrinkling.  He shook his head, sneezing to the side, and made his way to Raphael’s side.  _I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon._

“Of course.” 

_I have safety concerns._

“About the flying?”

_About the angels._

“Ah,” Raphael nodded.  He’d been expecting this all week.  “What are your concerns?”

_What are the chances they will view Sam as a threat?_

“I have discussed Samuel with the guard numerous times, and have not sensed any animosity from them.  If I had, I would have removed them from their post.”

 _What would you do if they hurt Sam?  Or tried to take him away?_   Morpheus’ voice was calm and curious. 

Raphael leaned back in his chair.  He recognized a test when he saw one.  But was it from Sam or Morpheus? 

“They would have to get through two archangels.  They would lose—and they are aware of that fact.  Archangels are not the same as seraphs.  It is not a simple matter of being stronger.  We are older, larger, and faster.  Castiel was the first seraph to stand against me, and he only survived the initial encounter due to Winchester-trickery.”  Raphael warmed at the memory, proud of Castiel’s defiance against Heaven’s cold corruption—a cold legacy continued by Raphael after Michael and Lucifer’s fall into the Cage. 

_And if they tried to take him?_

“The only reason they would remove Samuel from the bunker grounds is if he were in danger.  We warded the building against any angel not currently living here—including the guard.  The wards can be broken, but it would take serious effort and set off multiple alarms.  And there are alarms set to go off if Sam leaves the premises unexpectedly.”

_What if they were under orders?_

Raphael frowned.  This was about more than meeting the angel guard.  “You mean Michael?”

 _Yes._ Morpheus tilted his head, openly studying the archangel.

“Michael is many things, but deceitful is not one of them.”  Raphael chose his words carefully.  “He has no experience using manipulation and lies—and subtlety is a new concept for him.  As a leader, he respects order and brute force.  I spent millennia by his side before and during the Apocalypse, when we were the only two archangels in Heaven.  I spent another few centuries watching our Father restore him piece-by-piece.  I know the guilt he carries in regards to what was done to Samuel.  And right now, his goal for Heaven is to make it a home worthy of our newest sibling.”

Morpheus nodded slowly, and Raphael felt his curiosity spike.  He wasn’t sure what assurances the shifter was seeking, but knew this conversation was important.  Questions sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them—they would have to wait until he understood the situation better.

_What do you have planned for this afternoon?  Specifically._

Raphael laid out the schedule he’d discussed with Gabriel.  After lunch, the flock would go outside.  Gabriel would make the introductions, and allow some time for them to mingle.  They would go over the basics of flying, and what to expect from the lessons.  “The rest, as the humans say, we shall ‘play by ear.’  There is a good chance we will not get to any actual flying today.”

_That may be best.  I expect this meeting will take enough energy as-is.  Especially if Dean does not calm down beforehand._

Raphael winced.  He could hear Dean and Gabriel debating in the kitchen even now.  “Yes.  Dean’s protectiveness of Samuel has been quite overwhelming this week.  I believe his heart is in the right place, but his method of expressing his concerns has caused more harm than good.  I can speak to him before we go—without Gabriel’s equally volatile presence.”

 _Yes, please.  I would do it myself, but he would not hear me.  And there is only so much I can communicate through gestures and growls._   Morpheus stood and padded toward the door.  Apparently, he had the answers he’d needed.

“Morpheus?” Raphael called out.  He waited until the shifter turned and looked at him.  “Is Samuel okay?  He has been very quiet lately.  Are these his concerns about today, or your own?”

 _Sam’s concerns_ are _my own,_ was all Morpheus said before walking out the door.

 _Well, that was insightful,_ Raphael thought.  It told him that Samuel or Morpheus, or both, had serious concerns about trusting the angels.  Concerns that far outweighed any fear of flying—which seemed to be Dean’s main worry. 

With lunch still an hour away, Raphael flew to the guard.  He needed to ensure the boy’s first meeting with his new siblings went well.  It would set the tone for all future introductions. 

He found them in an emotional frenzy—a first for the Healer.  Seraphs were not known for overt displays of feeling, yet Nuriel seemed near-tears as Zadkiel sat against her side, offering closeness for comfort.  Even Sariel, who stood and stared stoically out at the horizon, appeared disturbed—it showed in her restlessly shifting wings. 

They watched from above the bunker, just outside the human’s physical plane.  Hidden from all except those who could access such a place.  Low-level demons would not even sense their presence.

“ **What has happened?** ” Raphael asked, ready to call Gabriel to them.  No one answered.  He frowned, and opened his mouth to demand answers when Sariel stepped toward him.

“ **We do not normally listen to conversations, but we do keep an extra ear out when the fledgling ventures into the woods with his canine.  They rarely speak during these runs.  But today…** ” Sariel trailed off.  Raphael raised an eyebrow at her unusual hesitation.  She touched two fingers to his forehead.  “ **It would be easier if I showed you.** ”

Raphael gasped as the conversation between Samuel and Morpheus played out in under a second.  Morpheus’ questions suddenly made sense.  His first concern, however, was the boy’s exhaustion.  Knowing it was compounded by a lack of sleep, which was being avoided with the aid of Raphael’s books, was worrisome. 

He looked at the angel guard in a new light.  Their reaction was genuine—grace cannot lie.  Knowing the young angel feared them to such an extent was devastating. 

“ **Yes, I was just made aware of Samuel’s anxieties.  But I had not realized it was so severe.** ” Raphael offered the guard captain a smile and patted her shoulder.  “ **What did you make of what you heard?** ”

“ **The fledgling must hate us,** ” Sariel said brusquely. 

“ **How so?** ” Raphael asked, hiding his shock at her words.

“ **He believes us capable of smiting him—that we might do so willingly.  Surely, he would hate what he thinks hates him.** ”

“ **Ah.** ”  Raphael sighed.  It was a very logical argument, but childlike in its simplicity.  He opened his mouth to correct her assumption, but Zadkiel spoke first.

“ **The child does not hate us, Sariel,** ” said the angel of mercy in a soft voice. 

“ **How could he not?** ” she challenged in disbelief. 

“ **Because he has known hate and dares not return it.** ”  Zadkiel pressed harder against Nuriel’s side.  “ **He has seen how hate changes a person.  That is not the fate he wishes for himself.** ”

“ **Then what _does_ he feel?** ” Sariel asked.

“ **Fear,** ” answered Nuriel.

“ **But we are here to protect him!** ”  Sariel began pacing, agitated by her own lack of understanding. 

“ **Since when has any angel, besides Castiel, protected him?  Gabriel tried, and Lucifer killed him.  You must admit,** ” Zadkiel’s chin rose in determination, “ **before our Father’s actions, no member of the Host would have guarded Samuel Winchester.  I know—because when I passed along his prayers to those responsible for action, I received only laughter and sneers.** ”

Raphael watched, riveted by the guards’ exchange.  He’d arrived with the intention of educating the seraphs on basic human emotional needs.  Instead, he found himself learning insights he’d been too busy to see—concerning both the guard and Samuel. 

Sariel was a natural soldier and strategist—her ability to assess a situation and instinctively know what needed to be done was a trait Raphael had witnessed since her days as a fledgling.  She had no experience with humanity beyond her brief time on Earth after Metatron’s actions.  She had even less involvement with children. 

And yet, her choice in guard members revealed an acknowledgment of her own deficiencies.  She could have easily chosen two other warriors to protect the misfit-flock.  But she picked a Caretaker and the angel who took the prayers of those seeking mercy and compassion.  Her decisions showed an unexpected level of mindfulness. 

“ **Healer, what can we do?** ” Nuriel asked.  “ **I have never known a fledgling who fears us.  How did you prove yourself to him?** ”

Raphael sat beside the Caretaker-turned-soldier, and thought back to his first encounter with Samuel.  Their meeting had been intertwined with pain and smoke and terror—all of which served as barriers between him and the boy.  It was remarkable to realize how far they’d come from that day.

“ **It was not easy, and I suspect it will no better for you either.** ”  Raphael threaded his fingers through Nuriel’s wings.  Not to groom, but to calm her grace.  “ **Respect his boundaries—if he says ‘no’ for any reason, you stop.  It will likely go against every instinct you have.  He does not readily accept comfort, even from those he trusts.  You must remember that there is an adult human mind underneath that young grace.  He will not respond to anyone who treats him like a child.** ”

“ **He has always been too mature for his age,** ” Zadkiel said, nodding.  “ **Even his early prayers addressed fears no child should be worried about.** ”

Raphael hummed in agreement.  “ **Go slow with him.  Building trust will take time.  You will be the first members of the Host he meets.  All other introductions will be shaped by his experience today.** ”

Sariel made a noise very near a snort.  “ **What is it the humans say?  ‘No pressure?’** ”

“ **No pressure, indeed.** ”  Raphael smiled.  " **Now, let us review how you should, and should not, interact with Winchesters.** "

* * *

Gabriel prepared lunch, trying to ignore Dean’s constant rambling.  Whoever thought Sam was the worrier in the family had clearly never dealt with the hunter in full big-brother-protective-mode.  It had been an exhausting week. 

 _I swear to Dad, if he doesn’t calm down, I’m gonna tranquilize him!_ Gabriel said silently to Castiel. 

 _I might help you,_ Castiel replied.

Gabriel would normally have no problem handling the hunter, but Dean’s near-hysteria over the upcoming meeting left no room for Sam to express anything.  They’d watched the kid become increasingly withdrawn, but there’d been no opportunity to talk to him alone.  He hoped Morpheus was having better luck.  The two were inseparable.

He added the final touches to the potato soup, and set it to simmer.  The others would arrive soon.  Now, if he could just figure out how to get Dean to simmer instead of boil over, they’d be set. 

Raphael arrived and quietly asked for a word with the hunter.  Gabriel held his breath, desperate for a miracle.  When they returned, he counted his prayers as answered.

Dean sat at the table, calmer than he’d been in days.  His eyes were slightly red when he smiled at Castiel.  The seraph merely nodded back, but his wings telegraphed his relief.

 _I don’t know what you said to him, but I owe you a life-debt!_ Gabriel told the Healer.  Raphael smiled, but there was an uneasiness in his eyes that only Gabriel could see.  _Wh_ _at’s wrong?_

Raphael hesitated for a moment, then moved to stand next to Gabriel.  He brushed his fingertips against the back of Gabriel’s hand.  It took every ounce of strength the younger archangel possessed to remain silent as images flooded his mind.  

 _Should we postpone?_ he asked as Sam and Morpheus’ words echoed in his ears.

 _No,_ Raphael said.  _I do not think ‘more time’ is the answer.  He will only learn to trust other angels by interacting with them—not avoidance.  I have already spoken to the guard about how best to interact with Samuel.  I believe that a good meeting will relieve some of his anxiety._

 _What’s gonna relieve_ my _anxiety?_ Gabriel asked wryly. 

_Hopefully, my talk with Dean will help in that area._

_What did you say to him, anyway?_   He looked over at the hunter who was now talking in hushed tones with Castiel.

_Oh, I just shared some advice—from one big brother to another._

_Well, now I really want to know._

Raphael winked.  _Sorry.  It is a secret that can never be shared with younger siblings._

Gabriel gawked at the Healer.  _You say that like I’m not an older brother!_

 _But you are not_ my _older brother._

Gabriel had several comebacks he wanted to use, but Sam and Morpheus’ arrival, followed closely by Mary, put an end to their discussion. 

His heart sank as he studied the kid with new understanding.  The bags under his eyes seemed darker now—his silence, heavier.  Gabriel wished it was in his power to magically make it all better. 

“Hey there, Sam-a-lam!  You’re right on time.  Do you want any bacon or cheese on the top?  Or both?” Gabriel asked as he ladled the hearty soup into a bowl.  The kid’s appetite had been lower than normal lately—which was saying a lot, considering how hard it was to get Sam to eat on a good day.

“Um, just some cheese.  Thanks,” Sam said with a yawn.  He looked like he’d just woken up. 

Gabriel threw a handful of shredded cheese on top, and set it in front of Sam.  “Eat up!”

Sam just nodded, and stirred the cheese into the soup with one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes. 

“What about you, Deano?  Bacon and cheese?  Or bacon and bacon?”

“Double bacon and double cheese for me,” Dean said with a bit more cheer than they’d been hearing. 

“One heart attack, coming right up,” Gabriel called back. 

Mary joined him at the stove, a bowl in her hand and a smile on her lips.  “Well, someone sure is a lot more cheerful.  Is that your doing?” she whispered.

“Raphael talked to him,” Gabriel said just as low.  “Bastard won’t tell me what he said though.”

 _I can hear you,_ Raphael teased.  Gabriel turned and stuck his tongue out without answering. 

“Hmm, I may have to try and get it out of him later.”  Mary took the ladle and served herself.  “I could use some pointers on how to de-escalate Dean now that he’s too big to put in a time-out.”

“Oh, please, let me help with that!  It would only take a snap.”

“Don’t you dare.”  Mary giggled and shook her head.  “I’d never hear the end of it.”  She smacked his arm on her way to the table. 

Gabriel gave Dean his “heart attack in a bowl” and sat down.  No one said anything for a few minutes—each person lost in their own thoughts.  It was like they were preparing for a funeral.

“So,” Gabriel started, just a little too loud, “are there any last-minute questions?”  He saw Dean open his mouth, but Castiel elbowed him hard in the side.  _Good job, Cassie,_ he said privately with a smirk. 

No one answered right away.  Then, Mary broke the silence.  “I know we’re meeting the angels who’ve been guarding the bunker.  And that they’re going to help somehow with Sam’s lessons.”  Gabriel nodded in confirmation.  “I guess…is there anything we should know about angel decorum?  Like, are there things we shouldn’t say or do because they’d be seen as rude in your…culture?”

Gabriel swallowed the laugh that was building inside him.  But he did grin.  “Nah, not really.    You’re more likely to confuse them with human slang and pop culture.  There are things that angels find insulting with other angels, but not so much with humans.”

“Like what?” Sam asked in a small voice.

Gabriel turned so fast he almost fell out of his seat at hearing the boy speak.  “Well, they aren’t gonna get any movie or music references.  And they take everything literally, so…”

“No.  I mean what do they find insulting with other…angels?”  Sam stared firmly at his soup bowl as he swirled his spoon through the cheese. 

Some of Gabriel’s elation deflated at the boy’s nervous tone.  He took a deep breath, and reached across the table.  Sam finally looked up when wiggling fingers entered his field of vision.  Gabriel waited patiently until the tiny hand stretched forward and rested between his palms.

“Sam, you do not need to worry about offending anyone.  I know that you’re nervous about today, but just be yourself.  You won’t be accidentally rude—trust me.”  Gabriel wanted to tell him that angels would see him as baby, and therefore incapable of rudeness.  But he didn’t think that would be very comforting to Sam in that moment. 

“Be myself?  That…that’s your advice?  Because being myself hasn’t always worked out great for me.”  Sam frowned.  “I’ve been reading those books on traditions and history. There are entire chapters dedicated to how to ‘present your wings’ for different situations.  I don’t even know what that means!”

“You are not meant to know what that means yet, Samuel,” Raphael soothed.  “Technically, you should not even have wings at your age.  No one expects you to have mastered their use, let alone understand the nuance of angelic body language.  That takes centuries for a fledgling to learn when they are raised among the Host.”

“Cut yourself some slack, kiddo—you first met angels less than a decade ago.  And Cassie is hardly a role model when it comes to Heaven’s traditions and customs.”  Gabriel winked at the seraph. 

Castiel nodded.  “That is true.  I was never very sociable.  And even if I had been a ‘role model,’ you would not have noticed without seeing my wings.”

“If you guys say so.”  Sam took a deep breath, and tried to smile.  “I guess we should probably get out there before we’re late.  Unless tardiness is also accepted.”

“Pfft!”  Gabriel patted Sam’s hand and sat back in his seat.  “I was a few thousand years late to the apocalypse.”

“Eat more before we go,” Dean said, finally joining the conversation.  “You barely had anything at breakfast.”

Sam made a face and forced himself to eat a few bites before announcing he was done.  No amount of cajoling could change his mind.  Gabriel gave it up as a lost cause, but vowed to try again at dinner.  If the meeting went well, hopefully Sam’s nerves would be settled enough to eat more that evening. 

Gabriel snapped their dishes away, not wanting to waste time with clean up.  They walked out of the bunker as a group.  No one spoke, but Raphael hummed an ancient song of peace. 

Sam came to a sudden stop when they began turning the corner to the back yard.  The boy looked pale, and his fingers twisted the fabric of his pants.  Morpheus stood behind him, nuzzling without pushing. 

 _This isn’t going to work!_   Gabriel made sure only Raphael could hear him. 

Dean pushed past everyone, and knelt in front of his brother so they were eye-to-eye.  For a minute, they spoke without words.  Then, he leaned forward and whispered in Sam’s ear.

“You got this, dude.  It’s just a meet-and-greet…like those stupid open houses we had to do at the start of each school year.  All that’s missing is the crappy macaroni art.”

Sam sniffed and gave a watery laugh.  “Didn’t you just cover your page in macaroni and glue cheese slices on top?”

Dean grinned.  “That school had no appreciation for modern art.  I was a freakin’ genius and you know it.”

“They gave you detention,” Sam said disapprovingly. 

“Totally worth it.”  Dean ruffled Sam’s hair.  “Now, you ready to meet some new teachers?  Because if _I_ have to teach you to fly, you’d be using a mini hang-glider.  And a helmet.  And pillows duct taped to every inch of you.  Actually, I’d just get you a bicycle with training wheels—and you’d still have to wear the helmet.”

“Jerk,” Sam huffed.

“Yeah, yeah, bitch” Dean murmured, wrapping the kid in a hug.  “You want me to carry you back there?  That way, you’ll be more eye-level with everyone.”

Sam quickly shook his head.  “No.  The last thing I want is to look _more_ like a kid.”

Morpheus nudged at Sam’s back.  _I’ll take you.  You’ll be taller on my back.  And warmer._

Gabriel thought it would also allow for a quick retreat if the shifter decided there was a threat.  But he had to admit—Sam looked like a small warrior ready to ride into battle on the canine’s back.  It was much more intimidating than being perched on a person’s hip like a toddler.    

“I’m gonna go with Morpheus, actually,” Sam decided, relaying the plan to Dean. 

A flash of disappointment crossed Dean’s face, but it quickly smoothed into a smirk.  “Sure thing.  I don’t blame you—if I had a valiant, badass steed like him, I’d…” he trailed for a second and shuddered, “nope, I’d still walk.  But I’d keep him close.”

Sam swung himself onto Morpheus’ back.  “Chicken,” he taunted as the group started moving again.

“Hey now!  I’ve already got a badass steed, and her name is Baby.” 

Sam’s eyes darted around the yard, searching for the guard.  But there was no one on the ground.  He took a shaky breath and gripped Morpheus’ fur tightly. 

Gabriel placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Relax, Sam.  They’re waiting until Raphael calls them down,” he said, nodding the go-ahead to the Healer. 

 ** _We are ready, Sariel_** _,_ Raphael’s voice rang clearly for all the angels to hear. 

* * *

Sam felt the guards’ arrival before he saw them. 

Grace cracked through the yard, louder than Sam had anticipated.  It sounded raw and clumsy and less powerful when compared to the archangels—the deafening roar of a go-cart against the purred hum of a muscle car.  He jumped at the unexpected volume, almost falling off Morpheus.

Gabriel’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently and the air warmed around him.  _Everyone’s safe, Sam_ , the archangel promised.   _Seraphs tend to be noisy little buggers—no finesse or style._ Then, he gestured Raphael to them.  _Keep Sam company for me until I introduce everyone._

Raphael smiled at Sam and took Gabriel’s place.  Sam wanted to protest that he was not an infant that needed to be handed off to another adult, but then he caught sight of the guard.  He tightened his grip on Morpheus, and tried not to hunch over on instinct. 

Sam had to tilt his head to see around everyone.  His mom and Castiel stood on either side of him, a few feet out.  Dean stood firm out front like a gate-keeper, never taking his eyes off the newcomers Gabriel walked towards. 

They had landed by the tree-line, several yards away.  An Asian woman, her face stoic and strong, was the clear leader.  Two angels flanked her from behind—an African woman with kind eyes and a white man with a shock of freckles and red hair.  All three wore the customary grey suits that seemed to be Heaven’s uniform. 

“Hey, guys!” Gabriel said cheerfully as he skipped the last few steps.  Linking arms with the leader like they were best friends, he steered them to the group.  “Welcome to our humble abode-bunker.  This is Dean Winchester—his reputation precedes him, I’m sure.  I know he looks grumpy, but I assure you, he hasn’t stabbed me _once_ since I got back!  Then we’ve got Mother Mary, also a Winchester.  Unlike Dean, she looks sweet.  Just don’t get on her bad side because she can be terrifying.”

“Hey!” Mary frowned, but her lips quivered with the effort to not grin. 

“And over here is Castiel, who isn’t nearly as treacherous as our siblings make him out to be.  He’s just light-years ahead of what the Host is starting to learn now.”

Sam tapped Raphael’s hand.  He mouthed the words, “What is he doing?!”

Gabriel bumped Castiel with his hip—a move that made the guard leader stumble as she was pulled along.  But the rough-housing was softened by Gabriel’s wing trailing across Castiel’s shoulder.  Sam saw the tense muscles under the trench coat sag as they relaxed into the touch.

 _He is being Gabriel,_ Raphael answered.  He gently rested his hand on the back of Sam’s head.  _Those traditions and customs you worried about earlier?  Gabriel delights in finding decidedly non-traditional ways to carry them out._

Sam took a deep breath when they turned to him.  The leader looked less stoic now and more flustered.  The other woman openly smiled and shook her head in fond exasperation, like she was used to Gabriel’s antics.  He didn’t know if he’d ever seen another angel smile so brightly.

“And last, but not least, we have our dynamic duo—Sam and Morpheus.  Each are formidable in their own way, but completely unstoppable when together.  And yes, they both bite,” the archangel said, winking at Sam.

“Gabriel!” Sam blurted out, feeling his cheeks burn.  He’d only bitten people under dire circumstances.

Dean was right—this was exactly like open house when all the parents and teachers try their best to good-naturedly embarrass the kids.  He had just never been on the receiving end of it.  John never attended their school functions. 

Gabriel ruffled his hair, and then motioned at Raphael.  “I won’t waste our time with this guy.  You know him already.”

Sam saw the leader’s eyes widen at hearing the Healer referred to as “this guy.”  Gabriel maneuvered her toward the front of the group again.  The red-haired man gave Sam a small smile and followed.  But Raphael drew the other woman to his side with a touch.  Sam was surprised to see her lean against the archangel.

Once Gabriel was in place, he released the woman and stepped to the side.  With a flourished gesture in her direction, he said, “Everyone—this is Sariel.  She’s in charge of keeping us safe, and has never learned to smile.  Give me some time—I only started her humor lessons a couple weeks ago.”  Sariel immediately smoothed the wrinkles from her suit and edged further away from Gabriel.  “This is Zadkiel.  He’s one of the youngest and nerdiest, but he can hold his own.  And in the back, we have Nuriel.  You’ll never find a sweeter sibling—which I can only say because I’m out of reach from her arms and wings.”

Sam sat in stunned silence, barely feeling Morpheus beneath him.  He watched as Zadkiel broke off from Sariel’s side and walked up to Castiel with a tentative smile.  Dean and Sariel were left to a staring contest until the hunter began growling out ground rules and safety questions.  She answered everything with calm efficiency, and the two quickly fell into a discussion on defense strategies.

Mary seemed torn as to where to go, but as soon as her eyes landed on Sam she drifted his way.  “How are you doing?” she asked in a low tone. 

Sam shrugged.  He hadn’t known what to expect—but _this_ certainly wasn’t it.  He’d have felt silly if he didn’t feel so numb.

She leaned down and kissed his crown.  Then, straightened up and looked at the angel standing with Raphael.  “Hello, I’m Mary.  And apparently, we’re both sweet-but-deadly.”

Nuriel grinned and glanced at Raphael.  **_Humans shake hands, correct?_**

Sam startled, not expecting to hear her voice in his head.  The movement caught the angel’s eye, but she just kept smiling.  Raphael nodded, and Nuriel proudly put out her hand.  “Do not listen to the Messenger.  He likes to play games.  It is nice to meet you, Mary.  I am Nuriel.”  Her vessel’s voice was slightly deeper than the one Sam heard over angel-radio, but it was warm. 

Mary looked delighted by the prospect of shaking the angel’s hand.  “Yes, we are very used to Gabriel’s theatrics around here.”

“Hey!” Gabriel yelled from across the group.

Raphael ignored him.  “Nuriel used to work with me.  She was one of the best Caretakers in Heaven.”

Sam remembered that Caretakers were like nursery workers.  He felt a tiny flare of outrage that they thought he needed a child specialist.  But he didn’t have time to protest. 

Nuriel knelt down and extended a hand for Morpheus to sniff.  He licked her wrist in a show of approval.  She jumped with a giggle at the sensation.  Then, she lifted her gaze.

“Hello, Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T HATE ME!!!  
> <3<3<3


	8. They Seek The Truth Before They Can Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Chuck Almighty!!!  
> This chapter ended up being over 11k!!??  
> Sorry (not sorry).

Nuriel only had eyes for the boy.

After two weeks of guarding the bunker from a distance, she longed to be closer to the young grace.  It called to her, reminding her of who she had been so very long ago.  A Caretaker without a charge has no purpose.

Listening to Sam express his fears to the shifter that morning had dampened her excitement.  She already knew the fledgling was unique—the archangels had made that clear from the beginning.  No amount of grace would erase his traumas as a human.  Her experience felt useless here.

He was not one of her children, raised in a carefully controlled environment with every detail designed to nurture and protect his sensitivity.  He had never been so exhausted from playing too hard with other fledglings that he sought her out, wanting to be wrapped in layers of grace until everything else faded away in a cocoon of safety.  He did not know her voice or touch or teachings.

Gabriel’s introductions were bizarre, but predictable.  The Messenger had always had a flair for doing things his own way.  He dragged Sariel by the arm from person to person, flustering their leader.  Nuriel exchanged amused looks with Zadkiel as they followed silently.

And then, she finally stood in front of Sam—close enough to see the individual shards of soul fused with seams of their Father’s blinding grace.  Gabriel’s teasing washed over her, but she didn’t hear his words.  Nothing could tear her attention away from the tiny wings that shuddered in embarrassment and outrage. 

They were beautiful.  A wisp-thin veil of white light and electric violet that telegraphed the child’s every emotion.  She focused on their beauty, allowing it to distract her from the horror of seeing wings on one so young and knowing what caused them to grow.

Raphael pulled her to his side with a knowing smile as Gabriel returned to the front of the group.  **_Your face, as Gabriel would say, is looking very “gooey.”_**

**_I have no idea what you are talking about._ **  Nuriel leaned against her mentor and fought the urge to sneak peeks of the boy. 

**_I know you—it is the same look you had every time a new generation of angels filled your nursery._   **

Nuriel sighed as nerves overtook her excitement.  **_I never thought I would see a fledgling again.  Now, there is one standing on the Earth who has never even_ seen _the inside of my nursery.  Part of me wants to just bundle him up and whisk him away to Heaven._**

**_Yes,_** Raphael nodded in agreement.  **_Samuel has a way of bringing that out in us.  I have learned to suppress many of my own instincts.  It takes time…and vast amounts of energy._**

**_And I thought no fledgling would present a greater challenge than Balthazar,_** she said wryly. 

The Healer’s chuckle rang through her head as they watched Mary walk toward them.  The human mother’s story was well known among the Host.  All the Winchesters were legends at this point. 

The human brother was already in a fiery debate with Sariel.  Nuriel wondered if the guard leader saw glimpses of Michael in the man born to be his vessel.  A short distance away, Zadkiel and Castiel stood in silent communication.  She thought they might need a gentle reminder on human customs.

**_Humans shake hands, correct?_** Nuriel asked, making sure the other angels could hear her. 

Sam jumped and stared at her with wide eyes.  She smiled, filing his reaction away for later evaluation, and greeted the mother.  Then, there was only one more person standing between her and the child.

Morpheus’ gaze remained steady when Nuriel knelt and reached her hand out for inspection.  The guard had all watched the shifter’s arrival closely, prepared to act swiftly should he turn on the flock.  Sariel still felt uneasy about his presence, but Nuriel and Zadkiel adored him from afar. 

A tongue flicked across her wrist.  It tickled, surprising her, and she didn’t try to stop the laugh that escaped.  She had never interacted with a dog before, let alone a magical one. 

Morpheus raised his head slightly and looked from her to his charge.  The gesture was clear—she was free to interact with the boy who sat on his back.  Excitement returned at full-force.

Nuriel looked up into hazel eyes brimming with too many emotions.  Lingering traces of anger still sparked through Sam’s grace from Raphael’s introduction of her, although she didn’t know which part had caused it.  Was it because she had worked with the Healer or the fact that she’d been a Caretaker?  Neither fact seemed worthy of inspiring such a reaction, but Raphael seemed amused by it.

“Hello, Sam,” Nuriel said.  She didn’t hold out her hand or stand.  Raphael’s earlier warnings about letting Sam set the pace echoed through her mind.  Silence filled each second that passed, but she was patient.  She could out-wait any fledgling.

Sam’s hands clenched tighter around Morpheus’ fur.  He opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed.  The canine’s tail began to sway back and forth, picking up speed and height until the tip touched the boy’s hair with each pass. 

Sam shuddered as though chilled and batted the tail away from his head without looking away from Nuriel.  “Quit that,” he muttered, then cleared his throat.  “Hello.”

“I have a brother who likes to do that—with his wings, of course, not a tail,” Nuriel said.

Sam gave a timid smile.  “I can’t get these things to move on command yet.  But since Dean wouldn’t feel them anyway, I just stick to hitting him with my hand.”

“And kick with your feet.  And stab with forks,” Mary mumbled under her breath.  

Nuriel raised a brow at Raphael.  “You have not taught him to move his wings?”

“We have been focusing on other aspects of Samuel’s education,” Raphael said.

“Uh huh.”  She stared at the Healer until his wings shifted nervously. 

“Perhaps we should sit by the fire.  That way we can all be comfortable while you evaluate my teaching methods.”  His mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mary said.  “It’s pretty cold out here today.  Sam, is that hoodie warm enough?”

_We can go back inside to get another jacket if you’d like, pup._   Nuriel suspected that Morpheus’ offer was more an excuse to escape than to retrieve clothing.

“I’m fine,” Sam answered them both.  His cheeks, already pink from the crisp air, turned red from their fussing.

When they reached the blazing fire, Morpheus laid down and Sam remained seated on his back.  Raphael settled onto a pillow next to them.  Nuriel watched, unsure where to go.

Mary sat across from her son and looked at Nuriel, patting the blanket beside her.  “No awkward lurking,” the mother ordered with a warm smile. 

Nuriel rushed to obey, grateful for guidance.  She glanced at the others.  Gabriel was leading Dean and the three seraphs towards them.

“You kids have the right idea!” Gabriel flopped on Nuriel’s other side, knocking into her in his haste.  “How’s it going, sis?”

“Nuriel was about to tell me how I have not been following her preferred teaching schedule,” Raphael answered before she could get her breath back.

“Yikes!”  Gabriel grimaced.  “Maybe I should come back later.”

“Oh no, brother.”  Raphael pinned him to the blanket with a look.  “I am sure she will have things to tell you as well.”

Sam watched them, gradually relaxing with the warmth and banter.  He absently played with Morpheus’ fur as his eyes tracked from person to person.  The closer his flock drew in, the more his tension eased. 

Dean stalked a foot in front of Sariel, continuing their discussion as he kept fierce eyes trained on Sam.  His aggressiveness startled Nuriel, and she turned to Gabriel.  **_Is something wrong?  He seems angry—like he is going into battle._**

Sam made a choking sound as Gabriel laughed.  “That’s just Dean Winchester.  He puts my ‘overprotective big brother’ routine to shame.  And Sam moved, like, a whole ten feet away from him, so…” he trailed off as though that explained everything. 

Dean ignored their laughs, but appeared to be analyzing the scene.  His eyes scanned each person before returning to Sam.  He stopped a couple yards from Raphael, and yelled without turning his head, “Move it, nerd-angels!” 

Nuriel didn’t know who he was yelling at until Castiel started jogging.  Zadkiel looked startled, but followed.  Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing the arm of the trench coat before the seraphs passed. 

Castiel and Dean shared a long, close stare.  Raphael’s lecture about “appropriate human behaviors” had definitely included personal space and prolonged eye contact.  Nuriel remembered him specifically saying that they should _not_ do it. 

If the two were angels, she would assume they were speaking privately.  But it was an intense posture if no actual words were being exchanged.  “Does Dean have the gift of hearing angels?” she whispered to Gabriel.

“Oh honey,” the archangel slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, “Dean doesn’t hear angels when we scream in his face.  No, this is a ‘Winchesters and Cas’ thing.”

“I do _not_ do that!” Sam sputtered.  Nuriel almost flew out of her vessel.  So much for the timid fledgling of ten minutes ago. 

“Whatever!”  Gabriel rolled his eyes.  “You and Dean have knock-down, drag-out fights without saying a word.  You have long, philosophical conversations with Cas using just your eyebrows.  And don’t get me started about when all three of you get into a silent stand-off!”

“Why is Gabriel yelling?” Castiel asked as he moved around the fire.  He sat on the other side of the flames, a few feet away from the others.  Zadkiel kept pace and sat between him and Mary.

“Because he’s a drama queen!” Sam scowled at the archangel.

Castiel nodded solemnly.

Nuriel tried to smother her laughter with her hand.  She felt a strange vibration from her stomach, like a whirling ball of static.  It left her giddy and weightless and dizzy—ridiculously happy and on the verge of tears. 

The sudden grief from realizing how much Heaven had lost mixed with remembering joy.  _We had this once,_ she thought.  _How did we forget?_

Gabriel squeezed her shoulder again, and cool grace soothed her own.  **_I know.  It is overwhelming.  Especially once you figure out it gets even better!_**

Her breath hitched.  **_First of all, that is not possible.  And secondly, you are not allowed to make me cry.  I need to prove my trustworthiness to the boy, and I cannot if…_ ** she trailed off.

**_Y_** ** _ou think crying would deem you unworthy of trust?_** Gabriel swayed, rocking her slightly.  **_Tears do not indicate weakness, Nuriel.  Humans are emotional creatures—it is their grace.  And in this house, we all cry…a lot._**

Nuriel scanned the faces around the fire.  Mary and Castiel were both listening to Zadkiel as he answered their questions.  Sariel and Dean spoke in hushed tones off to the side, although the hunter kept his eyes on his family.  Raphael was trying to say something to Sam but the boy was not listening.  He was too busy frowning at her. 

_Is she okay?_   Sam’s voice boomed through her mind, his eyes flicking toward Gabriel.

Nuriel managed not to flinch at the deafening sound.  Being a Caretaker meant working with little ones who spoke at unregulated volumes.  Zadkiel and Sariel had no such experience, and she saw both seraphs jump.

Sam saw it too, and he sucked in a breath.  “Did everyone hear that?” he whispered to Raphael.

“You were a little loud,” the Healer murmured, carding his fingers through the boy’s hair. 

Sam groaned and scrubbed at his face.  _Sorry._   The word was barely there—a whisper of air on the edges of their grace.  But the angels all heard it.

_There is no need to apologize._   Nuriel smiled, still resting her head against Gabriel.  _When you speak like this, imagine we are in a silent room and standing very close._

_We’re talking “Dean and Cas” close,_ Gabriel interjected.

Castiel snorted and shot the archangel a glower.

_Like this?_ Sam asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

Nuriel’s smile widened as the little voice that rang clearly.  He was still quiet, but she knew he would learn to adjust as he grew more confident.  _Excellent!_

“Hey!” Dean barked, cutting off whatever Sariel had been saying.  “Let’s keep it audible, people!”

“Sorry, Deano!” Gabriel grinned sheepishly.  “No more passing notes…we promise.”

“So, Sam,” Nuriel stretched and sat up, “what kind of things have you been learning?”

“Um,” Sam wiped his palms on his pant legs, “mostly how to control my grace.  Like energy manipulation and making balls of light.  And I’ve been reading the books Raphael brought me about history and customs.”

The Healer grunted at the same time Morpheus snorted.  Gabriel remained silent but tensed. Nuriel guessed that the books were going to become a topic of later conversation now that they knew Sam was reading instead of sleeping. 

Sam gave Raphael a worried glance.  “I…the books are also improving my Enochian.” 

“And what do you enjoy the most so far?” Nuriel asked. 

“What do I enjoy?” Sam echoed back.  His eyes darted from face to face, as though seeking the “right” answer.   

Nuriel nodded encouragingly but remained silent.  He understood the question even if it had never been asked of him.  But there was no need to push.

He’d been rushed into answers and decisions enough in the past.  She saw it in his determination during morning runs and the frantic way he talked about the future—like it was barreling toward him at terrifying speed.  Time moved differently for angels and he would burn up before reaching adulthood at this rate.

“I guess,” Sam bit his lip and dropped his gaze to the floor, “I liked talking to the trees.”

Gabriel straightened in surprise.  “Really?”

“When did this happen?” Raphael asked.  Castiel shrugged, just as lost.

“I..it was the morning…” Sam’s face fell.

“It was right before the Brits blasted Cas and I outta here,” Gabriel finished for him.  “That’s been your favorite thing so far?”

Sam nodded.  His shoulders hunched over like he was bracing for a lecture or ridicule.  Nuriel held herself still despite wanting to fly to his side. 

Raphael soothed the boy’s shifting wings with his hand.  “Did you know that is one of _my_ favorite pastimes?  I was the one who taught Gabriel how to communicate with different life forms.”

“Yeah, but you like to have deep meaningful conversations with them,” Gabriel said.  “I like to find the gossipers of the forest.” 

“Of course you do,” Raphael sighed. 

“Well, now that I know how much you liked it, we’ll have to do it more often!” Gabriel grinned.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, perking up. 

“Hells yeah!  I found a really old tree a few days ago I think you’ll really like—she has _all_ the dirt on the forest.” 

Mary snorted at his pun and elbowed him. 

Gabriel just giggled at her reaction.  “Well, it’s true!”

Nuriel shoot her head fondly, and focused again on Sam.  He was relaxing into Raphael’s touch and smiling at the others’ antics.  It gave her an idea.  “So, have they explained flying to you yet, Sam?”

“A little?”  Sam shrugged.  “I know that it isn’t flying like birds—I won’t be flapping or gliding through the air.  The wings are like mini-TARDISes…oh,” his eyes widened and Nuriel wondered if he’d said a word wrong.  She certainly didn’t recognize it from any language she knew.  “That’s a…from a tv show…you don’t…never mind!  Wings move through time and space by bending it.”

“Like personal alien spaceships strapped to our backs,” Gabriel whispered the words like they were supposed to explain something.  Nuriel followed Mary’s example and elbowed her brother’s side.  He gasped and rolled forward.  “I can’t sit between you two—I won’t survive this conversation.” 

“Why do messengers feel this need to talk without ceasing?” she aimed her question at Raphael who simply shook his head with a smile.  She returned to Sam and nodded.  “Yes, that is a very good technical description of how our wings function.  But have they explained how to do it?”

“I read about the process and how everything can affect the outcome.  You can hold your wings at certain angles to change speed.  And it mentioned something… **time slip-streams** ,” he glanced at Raphael, looking for confirmation on his Enochian word choice, and received a bewildered nod, “places between dimensions where time moves differently.  You can use them to your advantage if you know about them—use less energy to get to places or times faster.  But it can throw you off course if you stumble onto one.  And Gabriel told me how angel banishing works—that it short-circuits your wings and they fly themselves…away.”  Sam flushed and stopped talking when he saw all the angels staring at him with startled expressions. 

Nuriel felt her mouth twitch, not sure if she wanted to laugh or yell or cry.  “Those are…” she paused, searching for the right words, “all very good things to keep in mind, but you do not need to worry about any of that just yet.  I can bring you more _appropriate_ reading material about flying, if you’d like.”

“Oh, really?  Yes, please!”  Sam nodded eagerly.  “I think the book I read was part-anatomy, part-physics.  There were diagrams and a lot of theory.”

“Yes, I know which one you are describing.”  She leveled a look at Raphael.  “That is a very advanced text on the fundamentals of grace mechanics—usually reserved for students who are centuries into their chosen field of study.”

“I…I like reading about theory.  It’s interesting.”  Sam bit his lip again.

“And you’re good at grasping theoretical arguments!” Gabriel rushed to reassure—and probably postpone further criticism.  “But Nuriel’s right—reading that right now is only going to be confusing.  It would be like learning all the chemical reactions that take place during baking before you’ve ever even tasted or seen food!  Or learning musical theory without hearing a song.  Theory should fill in the blanks and expand your understanding—not lay the primary foundation.  And it’s definitely not a good first-step to flying.”

“Oh.  Sorry?”  The poor boy grimaced at what he perceived as his own mistake.

Nuriel waved off his apology.  “I respect eager students.  And I would love to discuss theory with you—I haven’t had the chance to explore academic topics in ages.”

“But I need to ‘hear the song’ before we can break down the elements of how it’s written?”

“Exactly!” Nuriel leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.  “Now, the first step in flying is experiencing it with another angel.  I know you’ve flown before, but have you done it since sprouting your own wings?”

“No.”  Sam’s wings fluttered nervously while his face remained calm. 

Raphael returned to running his palm over the boy’s back.  “We have avoided flying until we knew your wings were strong enough to handle it.”  He looked at Nuriel.  “They were exposed to this plain without any protection and I had to remove sections that were burned.  It took time to heal and build their own protective layer.”

Nurial winced. “I’m sorry,” she said honestly.

Sam tried to shrug around Raphael’s hand.  “It wasn’t your fault.  And I’m okay now.”

There was no way that was true.  She’d helped in Heaven’s infirmary during their worst battles.  Soldiers’ screams and the smell of burnt grace blended together in her memory.  It was unimaginable for a fledgling to suffer through such an injury.  “I am glad,” was all she could say out loud.

Sam cleared his throat.  “So, the first step is flying around with someone else driving.  Then what?”

“Then you will focus on making small jumps—flying to someone.  However, that requires you to recognize their grace.  Do you know what I mean?”  Nuriel crossed her fingers.  This would be a lot more complicated if Sam couldn’t identify one angel from another by grace alone.

“You mean how each grace feels different?”  Sam asked.

Nuriel nodded in relief.  “That is exactly what I mean.  You can feel the difference between Gabriel and Raphael and Castiel?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you feel their grace without them touching you?”

“Sometimes.”  Sam frowned in concentration.  “If one of them flies into a room, I can usually tell who it is without looking.  And I can tell if someone uses their grace—even if they’re trying to be sneaky.”  He directed that last part at a surprised Castiel.

The seraph recovered quickly and rolled his eyes.  “Gabriel uses his grace for pranks on a daily basis, but I help you remove a lid _one time_.  How do _I_ get labeled as ‘sneaky’ forever?”

Gabriel snickered and stuck his tongue out.

Nuriel covered the archangel’s face with her palm and pushed him back.  “How about us?  Me, Zadkiel, and Sariel?  Can you feel us from where you’re sitting?”  Fledglings were notoriously sensitive to other grace-beings.  Nuriel had always wondered if it was naturally due to being angels or because they were raised immersed in grace.

Sam’s grace drew inward, gathering into a ball away from the surface.  “Um, not really.  I can tell you’re here because there’s a lot more pressure in the air.  It kinda feels like being in an airplane at the start of take-off.  But I can’t tell you apart.”

_Interesting—maybe too sensitive?_ Nuriel added it to her growing list of observations.  She might need to write it down later for the archives.  “Whose grace are you most familiar with?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.  The archangels’ graces are really strong, but I’ve known Castiel’s the longest—I could recognize him even as a human.” 

Nuriel blinked in surprise.  Human sensitivity to grace was rare.  She wondered if it was genetic or because he had been a vessel.  Were both brothers as perceptive?  “Then perhaps we should use Castiel as the starting anchor?” 

Gabriel and Raphael both nodded their agreement while Castiel looked startled. 

“What’s an anchor?” Dean asked. 

“An angel learns to fly by honing in on the grace of an anchor and moving toward it,” Nuriel explained.  “Most of the Host still use this method—we are usually sent in groups with our leader acting as anchor.  It is more complicated to fly into a location on our own.”

“So, I’ll only be flying _to_ an angel?”  Sam looked disappointed. 

“In the beginning?  Yes.  Now, I know you’ve been groomed.  Have you ever groomed them?” Nuriel asked.

“What?”  Disappointment switched to confusion.  “What does that have to do with flying?”

“It has to do with interacting with grace.  Recognizing Castiel is only half the work—your grace needs to reach for him and move you across a distance.  Are you up for a little practice?”  She gestured for Castiel to come sit in the space between her and Sam. 

“I guess?”  Sam sounded less than certain as he watched his friend navigate around the fire and people. 

Morpheus shifted so Sam could turn and hang his legs off to one side.  It kept Sam elevated enough to reach higher parts of Castiel’s wings without moving to a pillow.  Castiel reached down, scratching behind the canine’s ears before sitting in front of the boy. 

Nuriel watched as the seraph gave a slight shudder and manifested his wings.  She’d always loved Castiel’s grace.  The deep black reflected swirls of colors like galaxies in the night sky.  She could tell Sam loved them too by the way his eyes lit up.

Castiel scooted closer, settling when he felt the little fingers tentatively touch one wing. 

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong.  I don’t want to hurt you or pull too hard,” Sam said quietly. 

“You won’t hurt me, Sam,” Castiel reassured.  He reached a hand back and pressed on a spot right above the boy’s knee.  Sam jumped and yanked forcefully on the wing.  Castiel smirked.  “You are more likely to tickle me with such a light grip.”

“Dude, I will never get over how freaky that is,” Dean said, squinting his eyes and staring at his brother’s hands, “watching you paw at the air.”

Sam scowled at him, but kept working his fingers through the dark wings.  “Your face is freaky,” he mumbled.  “Why don’t you go dig a moat, or whatever you were discussing?  Quit staring at me like I’m disarming an invisible bomb.”

Dean huffed.  “You _better_ not make Cas explode.  Been there—done that—had to wash the t-shirt.”  Sariel stepped back in alarm, like she feared proximity to a Winchester might make her explode too.  The hunter raised his hands, palms up, in reassurance.  “It’s okay!  Cas hasn’t blown up in a while.  It was probably just a phase—it’s not contagious!”

“No one is going to explode,” Castiel’s voice rumbled, deep and calm.  “Dean, relax.  Sariel, ignore him.  Sam, please continue.”

Dean just grinned at them, then shot Nuriel a wink when he caught her gaze.  **_What does that mean?_** she asked Gabriel privately.

**_It means he accomplished his mission,_** Gabriel answered, nodding toward Sam. 

Nuriel didn’t understand at first.  Not until she noticed how confident the boy was now that he’d been able to vent some tension.  His grip was steady and his voice strong.

**_Hmm._**   It was not a technique she used with fledglings, but this human knew Sam better than anyone. 

Raphael shifted in his seat, turning so he was facing Sam’s back.  “I think you could use a little work as well,” he whispered.  His fingers sifted through the wings with a light touch. 

“Sam,” Nuriel said after giving Raphael a few minutes to fall into a rhythm, “I want you to focus on the difference between Raphael and Castiel’s grace.”

Sam nodded, closing his eyes.  His grace glowed and pushed outward.  It illuminated his fingertips, making Castiel shiver and whisper guarantees that he was okay when Sam stopped. 

“Can you feel the difference?” Nuriel asked, keeping her voice soft. 

“Yeah,” Sam answered quietly like he was in a trance.  “Raphael is heavy.  And warm.  Like when you stand where sand meets the ocean—you just sink down, but you can still feel all the little grains?  I don’t know if I’m describing it right.”

“It is a perfect description, Sam.”  She saw the Healer’s cheeks flush with pleasure at the words.  “And what about Castiel?”

Sam smiled and kept his eyes closed.  “Cas is like…warm water…or maybe a summer storm.  He even sounds like it.  He has this…resonance.  Like rain pouring against a metal roof, but deeper and not super loud?  And there’s this smell when he uses his grace…like the air when heavy clouds move in before a storm.”

“Well, you just stay focused on that warm summer rain, okay?  Don’t just feel it—reach for it with your fingertips.”  Nuriel leaned against Gabriel again and basked in the moment.  She watched silently, allowing the boy to work in peace. 

Mary turned to Zadkiel and whispered questions about how grace was perceived by other angels.  Did they all feel Castiel as rain or was that just Sam’s experience?  Nuriel smiled as she listened to the seraph’s attempt to answer.

Raphael began to hum.  It was a melody Nuriel had not heard since before humanity’s creation—one of the songs of learning used to teach the story of Heaven’s Garden.  The words flowed back to her gradually. 

**_So, do we pass your scrutiny, oh master?_**  

Nuriel turned her head slightly to find Gabriel’s gaze only inches away.  **_You have done a wonderful job._**

Gabriel blinked.  **_What?  Really?_**

**_Look at him._**   She waited until his eyes shifted to Sam.  **_He is a miracle.  Against all odds, he exists and he is thriving.  I may have only met him today, but I was here when you brought him home after the kidnapping.  I remember feeling his panic and pain.  His despair at Raphael’s healing.  It shook all of us in the guard._**

**_Yeah,_** Gabriel’s stare grew distant.  **_I forget how far we have come—in so short a time._**

**_He was shaking with anxiety this morning.  Now, he is sitting with strangers around a fire, allowing someone to touch his wings while he grooms another for the first time.  He is extremely vulnerable—and he is falling asleep against Castiel._ **

**_He is…what?!_** Gabriel shook himself and really focused on Sam. 

The boy’s hands were no longer moving.  Instead, his fingers were clenched in Castiel’s wings, tangled in the inky grace.  Sam’s face pressed against the seraph’s back.  Nuriel hoped he could breathe around the beige fabric. 

“Dad above,” Gabriel swore in a low voice, “that kid can sleep anywhere…as long as it’s not a bed.”

“Is he asleep?” Castiel whispered.

“He’s either asleep or he’s really intent on sniffing your wings,” Gabriel answered.  Sam didn’t move.  Castiel sent an impressive glare to the archangel.  “Oh, yeah.  He’s definitely asleep if he isn’t protesting.”

“I believe he has not been sleeping well,” Raphael said, folding the small wings into place.

“Do we have to wake him up?” Mary asked.  Her face and tone suggested she was firmly against such action.

Morpheus agreed, giving a low growl to voice his opinion.

“If Sammy’s too tired to stay awake while _sitting,_ then he’s too tired to fly,” Dean added.

“Alright, everyone calm down,” Gabriel hushed them as he maneuvered to his knees and crept closer to Castiel.  “Dean, for once, is right—mark it on your calendars.  Sam needs to be rested and fully-charged before we start flying.  Now, let’s see if we can make him a bit more comfortable.”

Raphael helped him carefully extract Sam’s fingers from Castiel’s wings.  Gabriel held the boy’s forehead, letting him lean against his palm while Castiel shifted away.  It looked like they were going to make space to lay him down on the blanket.

Nuriel couldn’t stop the disgruntled sound that came from the back of her throat—especially when she saw Sam’s grace reach for the seraph as he moved.  He grew restless in the archangels’ hands, whining when he couldn’t reach what he wanted.  The archangels looked alarmed but unsure what to do with the fledgling propped up in their arms.

“Cas, get your ass back there before he wakes up!” Dean ordered in a whisper.  Nuriel’s respect for the human brother rose tenfold as she watched him carefully step around the pile of angels and pillows to reach Sam.  He quickly and expertly took over holding the boy, batting away the archangels, and transferred him into Castiel’s arms. 

Castiel gently adjusted his sleeping bundle.  Sam’s body curled toward the seraph once his head rested in the crook of Castiel’s arm.  Everyone held their breath until the boy sighed and relaxed completely.

Nuriel shook her head slowly at the whole scene.

“What?” Gabriel asked as he sank back down beside her. 

“Is it always like this?” She gestured toward the flock who were all still hypersensitive to Sam’s every breath. 

“Oh, you mean are we all mother-hens who constantly run around in a state of panic if Sam so much as sneezes?” Gabriel gave her a guilty grin.  “Yeah, pretty much.”

“It is no wonder you are all exhausted.  Do you have a routine?  Set actions and roles for each member to take for different situations?”  Heaven functioned under extreme regulation.  Everyone had a place and knew what to do in any event. 

“Do we have a routine?”  Gabriel let out a high, manic laugh that grated on Nuriel’s grace.  “Sister, we _try_ to have a routine.  _Try_ to have three meals a day with grace lessons scheduled in the morning and afternoons.  _Try_ to get everyone to sleep on time and do our best to make sure it’s not interrupted.  And you know, I don’t think we’ve managed to hold to that schedule for an entire day yet.”

Nuriel looked at the humans—the brother and mother.  She had not considered their role beyond the comfort their presence would bring to the child.  But she saw how Mary was sure to include everyone, and even showed care and affection toward Zadkiel in their conversation. 

Dean’s role was the most defined of the flock.  He confidently knew exactly what needed to be done and took charge when others floundered.  He was _not_ a passive supporter. 

“I had not considered the complications of merging an angel flock with a human family.  It must be difficult to find your balance.” 

“It’s not that,” Gabriel said.  He stared at Sam with a sad smile.  “Balancing the human and angel members of our little group was the easy part.  The brothers and Castiel were already bound together—the rest of us just filled in the space around them.”

“Then what is the hard part?”

Gabriel nodded toward Sam.  “Balancing the human and angel aspects in that little guy.  He is a ball of internal conflict walking around on two legs—an adult human mind crammed into a child’s body and made of infant grace.”

Nuriel had not thought of it in such terms.  But the picture Gabriel painted clarified some things.  It also created a whole new list of growing concerns.  “So, it is Sam who is unsure of his role because he is carrying three.  And everyone else is constantly trying to determine which aspect of Sam’s self you should be reacting to.”

“Yep.”  Gabriel turned to her.  “If he wakes up right now, there’s no telling how he’d react to Cas holding him.  If he was feeling particularly adult, he’d be embarrassed and flustered and angry.  But if he’s young—meaning vulnerable or scared—he’d probably burrow further into Cas’ coat and kick anyone who tried to make him move.”

“Those are very different reactions,” Nuriel said slowly. 

“Now, how do I build a routine around that?”  Gabriel challenged her, one eyebrow raised.

“Very carefully.”

Gabriel’s laughter was immediately hushed by several voices.

Nuriel grinned.

* * *

Sam didn’t remember how the meeting ended.  One minute he was grooming Castiel, surrounded by the bright scent of rain, and the next he was waking up in a bed, wedged between the seraph and his brother.  They were in the communal room again.

_Ugh, what time is it?_ he thought.  A hand brushed through Sam’s hair, making him jump.

Castiel huffed a quiet laugh.  _It is one in the morning._

_Did I…did I say that over angel radio?_ Sam squirmed around Castiel’s hand, trying to look at his face. 

_You fell asleep while connected to my grace.  It opens a bond for a time and makes it very easy to hear one another._ Castiel pulled the blanket up around Sam’s shoulders.  _Try to sleep a little more._

Sam tried to do the math.  _I’ve been asleep for at least ten to twelve hours, Cas!_

_Yes, and you need more._

He’d fallen asleep in his very first class.  He’d never slept in school—not even during naptime in kindergarten!  Humiliation churned his stomach.  _Were they mad?_ he asked.

_Who?_

_The guard!_ Sam buried his face in the pillow, hoping to smother himself into oblivion.  _I fell asleep during the meeting!_

_I remember.  I believe Dean took a picture._  

Sam was pretty sure Castiel had a smug smile on his face.  He kicked at the seraph’s shins, but the blankets made it nearly impossible to move his feet.  The effect was rather unimpressive if Castiel’s deep chuckle was any indication.  _You suck._

_No one is angry.  Now, go back to sleep or I will involve Dean in this dispute._

Sam gasped and froze under the blankets.  _Traitor!_

_You are welcome to get up,_ Gabriel’s voice interrupted.  _We can discuss why you are reading dusty old books about theory instead of sleeping at night._

Cold dread crept down Sam’s spine.  Had the archangel gone into his room?  Did Gabriel know about the book under his pillow?  The light tone seemed to suggest that he didn’t know—that he was only aware of Sam’s late night reading.  _I’ll sleep,_ he sighed in resignation.

_I thought you might,_ Gabriel said. 

Sam slowly drifted, eventually falling asleep.  When he awoke again, he knew it was still early.  Dean’s muffled snores filled the space behind Sam. 

“What time’s it now?” Sam asked through a yawn. 

“Six,” Castiel answered. 

Sam felt groggy after sleeping three-quarters of a day.  It was more than he’d had in the last four nights combined.  He stretched under the blanket, trying to rid his muscles of their stiffness.  “Am I _allowed_ to get up now?”

Castiel lightly bopped the top of his head.  “You were allowed to get up before.  You just did not like Gabriel’s terms.”

“There shouldn’t be ‘terms’ to getting up,” Sam grumbled, crawling out from under the covers.  He glanced over toward the archangel’s usual spot on the sofa and was surprised to find it empty. 

“He’s starting breakfast,” Castiel explained.

Sam’s stomach growled painfully at the mention of food.  He saw Morpheus’ little ears perk up from a bundle of bedding at the noise.  “Not a word,” he warned Castiel. 

Castiel mimed zipping his mouth and Sam resisted the urge to smack him.  The angel was spending too much time with Dean.  He settled for glaring instead.

Crawling off the bed, Sam snagged Morpheus and left the room.  He needed to get ready for the day.  And find better hiding places for the book and his notes before Gabriel decided to have that “talk” in the future. 

He paused outside his bedroom, and glanced down at Morpheus.  “Go on ahead to the kitchen.  I’m just gonna get changed.  I’ll be right there.”

Morpheus snorted and shifted into his larger form.  _So I cannot see where you hide the book you don’t want everyone to know you’re reading?_

Sam gaped at him.  There was no way Morpheus knew what the book was about—he couldn’t understand spoken Enochian, let alone the written form.  The shame of deceit soured his hunger.  “I didn’t…”

_You are allowed to have your own secrets, pup._ Morpheus nuzzled his hair, making Sam feel worse.  _Just make sure the secret is worth it in the end._

Sam stood frozen as he watched the shifter disappear around the corner.  _Well, shit,_ he thought, opening the door.  Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him. 

He went straight to the bed and pulled the book from underneath his pillow.  It was barely large enough to be called a book—certainly not in comparison to the other enormous, leather-bound tomes brought from Heaven.  It fit easily in his hand and contained less than thirty pages.  But what wonderfully enlightening pages they were.

His fingers skimmed the edges of the thin manuscript.  It held one of the primary things he wanted to learn and knew the others would rail against teaching—the step-by-step instructions on how to manifest an angel blade.  There were a few pointers on how to fight with the blade, but Sam mostly wanted to know how to _make_ one.  He already knew how to fight with knives and swords. 

In the grand scheme of his life, this secret barely registered—not when held up against Stanford or Ruby or the Book of the Damned.  Plus, Raphael _brought_ the book for him!  So why did this small bundle of paper seem so heavy in his hand? 

Sam sighed and tucked the manuscript between the mattress and headboard, under the fitted sheet.  It was thin enough to not stick out.  No one would notice unless they stripped the bed.  He tried not to imagine what would happen if it was found.

**_When_** _it’s found,_ his mind whispered.  _When have you ever successfully kept secrets that didn’t turn into disasters?_

Sam told his mind to shut up and then went to breakfast.

The morning flew by with their usual routine.  Food, run, short grooming session, and lunch.  Nerves were nowhere near as high today when they all filed back outside to meet the guard.

Sam walked on his own this time.  Morpheus had been mostly silent since his words of wisdom before breakfast, only speaking when necessary.  There was no judgment in his gaze and Sam didn’t know how to take that. 

The guard was waiting for them on the ground.  Sariel stalked the perimeter of the yard, her eyes always seeking potential threats through the trees.  Dean broke off from the group to join her.  Sam watched them pick back up their conversation from the previous day.  It figured that the two members who were probably the most uncomfortable with the groups meeting were the ones who bonded first. 

Nuriel stood with the red-headed angel by the firepit.  _What is his name again?  Zekiel?_ Sam had only heard it said once or twice, and for some reason it refused to stick in his brain. 

“Okay kids, are we ready to try this again?” Gabriel asked by way of greeting.  Everyone nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  The archangel crouched down by Sam. “First-things-first, we need the guard to get a tiny feel of your grace.  Just enough so they can recognize you if you make a break for Disney World mid-flight.  Did you decide yet?”

Gabriel had explained it over breakfast.  The guard would act like a barricade to keep them in the yard.  And like search-and-rescue dogs, they needed to get his “scent” in case he went astray. 

“Handshake?”  Sam figured anything that didn’t involve hands on his wings or fists through his chest would be fine.  He’d said as much to Gabriel, not expecting the horrified look he got in response. 

“It could be even smaller, if you wanted,” Gabriel leaned forward to whisper.  “You could just touch fingertips.”  He held up a finger at Sam in demonstration.

“What, like E.T.?”  Sam scoffed, displaying his own unimpressive middle finger. “I think I’ll stick to a normal handshake, thanks.”

Gabriel barked a laugh and ruffled Sam’s hair.  “Heathen!  Fine—handshakes it shall be.”  He gestured Nuriel over. 

The Caretaker knelt next to them, not caring that she was staining her suit with dirt.  “I’ve never gotten to shake hands with a fledgling before,” she said, offering her hand. 

Sam slowly took it, although they didn’t really shake.  She simply held his hand in a light grasp.  A look of concentration came over her face, like she was listening to something no one else could hear.  Her hand felt warm and far more solid than just flesh.  She reminded him of Raphael.

“Well, I guess that would be hard if they don’t have hands.  What do angel kids even look like?  Balls of light floating around?  Do you have to, like, tether them together so one doesn’t float away?”  Sam heard himself rambling and looked at Gabriel, silently begging him for help. 

“Like having a body will keep you grounded!  I thought we’d need to tether you to us _before_ you sprouted wings.”  The archangel smirked.  “Or have you forgotten the tree-incident?”

“One time, Gabe,” Sam muttered under his breath. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Nuriel said, standing up to make way for the next seraph.  “Your turn, Zadkiel.” 

_That’s his name!_ Sam thought in relief.  It was awkward enough touching each person without the added pressure of one realizing he didn’t remember their name. 

The redhead took Nuriel’s place kneeling on the grass.  For a moment, he did nothing but look at Sam.  There was a glint of awe in his eyes, but it was mixed with sadness.  Sam wondered if this was how Harry Potter felt every time he met wizards who recognized him—if he were a real person and not a character.

“Hello, Sam,” Zadkiel said and Sam was surprised by the softness of his voice.  He’d grown used to the rumbling of Castiel and Raphael, and the booming power behind Gabriel.  But Zadkiel was smooth, like the surface of undisturbed water. 

“Hi.”  Sam thrust his hand out. 

Zadkiel took his hand, covering it between both of his own.  It was the exact same way Castiel had first taken his hand all those years ago.  Sam held his breath, hoping this angel didn’t subscribe to Heaven’s early “Winchester propaganda.” 

The corner of Zadkiel’s mouth twitched upward.  “You are very strong.”

“Um, thanks,” Sam said awkwardly.  He continued talking when it appeared Zadkiel was in no rush to let go.  “So, what is it you do?  Gabriel didn’t mention a specific role.”  The only thing he remembered the archangel saying was that Zadkiel was younger and a nerd.

Zadkiel lifted his gaze to Sam’s face.  “I am the angel of mercy and compassion.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Sam nodded like he understood.  He’d read about such titles for angels, but he’d never met one who actually held it.  Mercy and compassion hadn’t seemed very high on Heaven’s list of priorities. 

“I listen to prayers and try to direct them to the appropriate department.  You might consider me a glorified office clerk here on Earth,” Zadkiel explained, finally releasing Sam’s hand. 

“You would be no such thing,” Raphael commented firmly, then turned to Sam.  “There are very few angels of mercy and compassion left among the Host.  And they are unique in their perception of humanity and emotion.”

“He also falls under the category of ‘Messenger’ and no one in my department gets to call themselves a ‘glorified office clerk.’”  Gabriel pulled the seraph to his feet and landed a playful punch to his shoulder. 

“Be nice,” Sam said, kicking the archangel’s shin.  It felt good to finally land a hit without being impeded by blankets.  “You can’t punch people to make them feel better.”

“I thought that was the Winchester way!” Gabriel made a show of rubbing his leg, but Sam knew it was all theatrics.  Besides, he could barely bruise Dean anymore.  “Sariel!  Get over here before this gremlin goes for my kneecaps.”

Sariel flew from across the yard, landing a few feet from Gabriel.  The sound alone knocked Sam back and it was only Raphael’s steadying hands that kept him from falling on his ass.  He shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears.

“Sweet baby J, Sariel—I didn’t mean literally!” Gabriel said, shaking his head. 

Sariel blinked at him before shifting her stoic stare to Sam.  Instead of the warmth and nervousness he’d seen in the other two seraphs, this one exuded intimidation and a cool lack of emotion.  She studied him with an air of indifference. 

Sam felt some of his tension ease.  _This_ was at least familiar—more like all the other angels they’d dealt with through the years.  He drew himself upright, pushing away from Raphael.  Carefully blanking his face, he offered his hand. 

He was not expecting to see a massive set of wings manifest over her shoulders as she slowly bowed her head in greeting.  They were a deep burnt sienna with veins of crimson and amber and tipped with a white glow.  She was breathtakingly fierce.

Sam openly gawked, his mouth dropping open in amazement.  He heard Gabriel grumble about “traditionalist angels” being show-offs.  But everything else around him faded away at the sight of her wings.

Sariel crouched down, moving with the power and grace of a wildcat.  Her body remained ready to spring into action as she analyzed his hand.  Finally, she pressed her palm to his without actually grasping it. 

Sam wasn’t prepared for the heat that emanated off her grace.  It was like accidentally touching a car door that had sat in the sun for hours.  His hand jerked back a few inches in surprise. 

“Dial it back a bit, Sariel,” Gabriel advised.  “Don’t pool all your grace on the surface—you want him to reach you, not you reach for him.”

Sam didn’t think he’d reached for any of them.  He shook his hand and took a breath.  When the sting went away, he very slowly returned his palm to her.

“My apologies,” Sariel said in a flowing soprano voice.  “I have never assisted with fledgling lessons before—I am not as skilled in subtle grace work like my companions.  But I have tracked angels who have been banished.  Do not fret.  If you get lost, I will find you.”

“Thanks.  I think.”  Sweat built on Sam’s palm.  The heat no longer burned, but her grace was still sweltering.  He hoped she finished before it became gross.

“Zadkiel is correct—you are very strong.  Your grace has bite.”  Sariel moved fluidly to her feet.  “I look forward to seeing you grow.”

“Okay!”  Gabriel took her by the shoulders and directed her back toward Dean.  “Yes, thank you for making Castiel look like the poster child of social competence.  Go take your place along the perimeter and keep Deano distracted for us.”

Sam wiped his hand on his pants as he watched her walk away.  She’d felt so much like Michael, only muted—a bonfire to the archangel’s colossal wildfire.  He was sweaty and cold at the same time now. 

Gabriel crouched down, taking both of Sam’s hands and cradling between his own.  A warm breeze purged the lingering smell of smoke and balanced his body’s internal debate about temperature.  “How we doing?” he murmured.   

Sam could only nod.  It was easier to breathe but his throat felt parched.  He jumped at the sudden sound of a snap and found thermos in front of his face. 

The archangel opened the lid and Sam sniffed.  Sweet-smelling steam tickled his face and nose.  He sipped it, and sighed as warm tea with hints of chamomile and oranges washed away the remaining traces of fire and ice. 

“Thanks.  I’m good,” Sam said, handing the thermos back half-drained. 

Gabriel studied him for a second before reluctantly taking the tea and standing and addressing the guard.  “So, we discussed it some this morning and decided that I’d be the one who takes Sam on his test-flights.”

Nuriel’s eyebrows went up and she looked at Castiel. 

“I do not know if I can provide sufficient protection to his grace while still exposing him enough to learn from the experience.”  Castiel had been adamant—one of the archangels needed to take Sam.

“Cas just knows how sneaky you can be,” Gabriel joked, sending Sam a wink that turned his stomach, “but I promise not to drop you!”  He held out his arms and waited, a concerned look growing when Sam didn’t move.

Why did it even matter if he read the damn book?  He’d grown up sneaking into motel bathrooms to do his homework, forced to finish it in secret after his dad and brother had fallen asleep.  Because it took time away from researching legends, learning to fight with weapons, and performing first aid on bleeding family members.  Why shouldn’t he learn how to protect himself in this new form? 

“Sam?  You okay, mini-moose?”  Gabriel frowned.

Sam nodded, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and mind.  “Yup!  Sorry, all that hot and cold and steam took a second to settle.  I’m good!”  He tried to grin and not confess on the spot.

Gabriel scooped Sam up and studied him close at eye-level.  “You sure?  You look…nervous.”

“We’ve never been big fliers,” Sam gulped. 

“Well, you just relax.  All we’re gonna do is make a couple jumps around the yard and we’ll talk between each one.  No pranks or jokes—I won’t do anything to surprise you.”  Gabriel sounded so earnest it hurt.  “The whole point of this is for you to understand each step and what it feels like.  If you have any questions, just ask.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

Gabriel nodded his head at the other angels and they all moved out toward the tree line.  Mary smiled at them and gave a thumbs-up as she followed Zadkiel.  Sam’s hand gripped tighter to the archangel’s jacket.

“Just breathe, Sammy.  We aren’t taking off, so go ahead and breathe.”  Gabriel held still as he spoke.  He didn’t sway or walk around, for which Sam was grateful. 

He hadn’t been nervous about the actual flying until that exact moment.  His panic had stayed centered on the angel guard, but seeing Gabriel’s wings glowing gold in the sunlight made his immediate situation very real.  “I hope I don’t puke,” Sam blurted out.

Gabriel rested a hand on Sam’s back, easing his nausea.  “It’s fine if you do—nothing a little snap won’t fix.”

“Awesome.”  He took a deep breath, relieved when his stomach stayed settled.  “Okay, I’m good.  I just got a little nervous there.  It’s silly.  I mean, I’ve flown before!”

“Not with wings, you haven’t,” Gabriel said, understanding the problem.  “It’s different.  Believe me—I know.  And after a jump, you’ll know it too.”

“Different how?”

“It’s kinda like riding a horse.  You can look at a horse and watch someone else ride, but until you’ve gotten on the back of one yourself, you can’t understand the muscles and movements needed to stay balanced.”

“And flying before wasn’t like riding a horse?” Sam asked.

“Nope—more like sitting in a wagon behind the horse.  But with wings, you’ll feel it on a whole-body level.  Now, when I’m flying us, it’ll be like riding behind me.  You’ll won’t be steering, but you’ll feel it.  Does that make sense?”

Sam laughed.  “After riding Morpheus around for a week or two, it definitely makes sense.”

“I love it when a good analogy works out,” Gabriel said as he checked to see that everybody was in place.  “Alright, so for this first jump, I only want you to focus on how it feels.  We’re just going to go about ten feet to the right, okay?”

Sam wanted to burrow under the archangel’s jacket.  Some instinct in him screamed to flatten his wings, bind them in some way that doesn’t leave them exposed, but he didn’t have the control.  Instead, he simply tightened his grip with hands and legs, and leaned in. 

Gabriel wrapped an arm around his back, pulling him all the way against his chest.  “It’s okay to stay close.  My grace will keep you from getting overwhelmed.  Ready?”

“Do I have to keep my eyes open?”  Sam almost yelled in his haste to ask.

A hand moved up to his head and encouraged Sam to press his face into his throat.  “Nope.  Close your eyes and just breathe.  We’ll go when you’re ready.” 

Sam took a breath.  Gabriel smelled like lavender and mint.  The scent cooled his lungs and nerves.  He nodded.  “Ready.”

He heard the roar of wings and wind, and clung to Gabriel as they started spinning, spiraling through something thinner than water but heavier than air.  It moved _through_ his wings, reaching inside his grace in a way fingers never could.  He felt it coat his entire being like Raphael’s grace-wrap during healing, but this was not grace.  This was something completely _other._

There was not way to tell how long it lasted.  It couldn’t be measured in breaths or heartbeats because neither existed in the _between_.  But when it ended, Sam became extremely aware of both. 

They landed and a world of sensation exploded around him.  Sam gasped in air that tasted like wood smoke and dirt.  Blood rushed through his ears, adding a steady rumble to the cacophony of birds and insects. 

“Easy.  Easy, now,” a voice said, cutting through the commotion.  “Take your time—I got ya.  Don’t open your eyes until you’ve got your other senses settled.  There you go.”

It took a few minutes before the world felt stationary again.  Sam cautiously peeked out from Gabriel’s shoulder and had to squint at the intense colors filling his vision.  Eventually, the archangel’s face swam into focus.

“Welcome back, Samshine!” Gabriel said with a bright smile.

Sam glanced around them.  The world was encased in the hazy glow of auras.  He rubbed at his eyes, but the effect remained.  “Whoa,” was all he could say.

“It’s pretty impossible to describe using human metaphors, isn’t it?  It doesn’t quite capture the experience.”  The light around Gabriel slowly dimmed as he spoke.  “How are you doing?”

“Um, okay, I think.”

“Thoughts?  Opinions?”

“You’re right.  ‘Horse riding’ doesn’t really do that justice.  It’s more like being shoved into the spin cycle of a washing machine…while falling from an airplane…through a tornado.”

“Was it awful?”  Concern radiated from Gabriel’s entire being.  “Do we need to take a break or get you a drink?”

“It was kinda awesome, actually,” Sam said honestly. 

He never saw himself as an “adrenaline junkie” like a lot of other hunters.  A quiet evening with a good novel or movie was thrill enough.  But once in a while, he’d get hit with the desire to find a theme park and ride a rollercoaster or go parasailing—something life-affirming and exciting. 

Of course, it never happened.  A case would pop up or they’d be nowhere near a park or ocean, and the urge would pass within a couple days.  And they never went to things like that as kids.

“You…you liked it?” Gabriel’s concern melted into bafflement. 

“I think so,” Sam grinned.  He anticipated warming up to the activity.  “I didn’t have my eyes open, though.  I may have a completely different opinion once I see it.”

“You up for another jump?” 

“Sure.  Anything I should know about what I’ll be seeing?”  Sam had seen enough horrific visions to last even an angel’s lifetime.  But it meant his imagination was more advanced than most people.  “Are there, like, giant creatures floating around in that place?  Or crazy colors?  Will it burn my eyes like chlorine in a pool?”  He suddenly wished he had goggles. 

“Again, it’s hard to describe in human terms,” Gabriel sighed.  “There’s no creatures—just the world around you, but it’ll seem paused and like there’s _more_.  There will be colors you can’t name and energies you didn’t know existed.  Your eyes might feel like you’re looking into the wind, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay.”

“You tell me when you’re ready to go again.”

Sam took a deep breath and rested his cheek on Gabriel’s shirt.  The arms around him tightened.  “Ready.”

The world shifted and froze as the rushing sound again filled Sam’s ears.  It was like they’d paused a video, blurring the image slightly.  The color scheme flipped, casting the yard in crimson, violet, indigo, and another hue he’d never seen before. 

The spinning sensation hit, completely contradicting the motionless picture around him.  Then, he saw Gabriel’s wings extended outward, lights _pulsing_ through the pathways of each “feather.”  It propelled them forward and Sam could feel the movement and knew it was right even though the scenery didn’t match. 

It was like strolling on a moving walkway, propelled faster by time itself.  The stop was jarring—a sudden end of momentum met with the eruption of life at full-speed.  The strange colors reverted to normal, although they retained their brightness.  His hearing stayed more enhanced for a few minutes, and he focused on listening to Gabriel’s heartbeat until the vibrancy died down. 

“There we go—right back where we started.”  Gabriel rubbed Sam’s back, helping to ground him in the physical.  “How was that?  Are you doing okay?  Ready to puke?”

“Why do you have a heartbeat?”  Sam had no filter to stop the words from tumbling past his lips.  He’d gone from zero to strongest-hallucinogenic-drug-trip-ever to zero again in under what felt like a matter of seconds. 

“To keep my vessel pink and life-like.”

“I can hear you grinning.”

“And I can hear you tripping.”  Gabriel pulled Sam back to see him better.  “Are you tripping on time, Samuel Winchester?  Because your brother will kill me if you start seeing vapor-trails.”

Sam frowned.  “Well, maybe you can slam _his_ brain into an alternate dimension for a minute and see how well he does.”

“Oh, good.  You’re fine.”  Gabriel gave a heavy sigh of relief and clutched Sam close again.  “I thought I’d addled you.”

“I _am_ addled!”

“But no more than usual,” Gabriel lightly teased.  “So, what did you think this time?”

“It was…wild.”

“Good wild or bad wild?”

“Not bad.  But not great.  Good-ish?”  Sam had no way to express himself—no language to articulate how he felt or what he experienced. 

“Alright!  I’ll take ‘good-ish!’” 

“I think I just need to get used to that…place.  The colors and weird floaty movement, like we’re sliding—it’s pretty off-putting.”

“Just remember—we all had to get used to it at some point.  Learning to fly is sort of a rite of passage for angels.  It’s something we celebrate and get really excited about.  But it takes time and a lot of effort for everyone, so we usually take it slow.  You aren’t training for a race here and there’s no deadline.  Okay?”

Sam frowned, grateful the archangel couldn’t see his face against the jacket.  There may not be a deadline but that was only because they didn’t know when it would be needed.  And it _would_ be needed—it was simply a matter of _when._  

“ _Okay?_ ” Gabriel repeated.

“Okay,” Sam finally answered. 

They spent the next hour making small jumps around the yard.  Each time, Sam grew aware of new details.  Patterns in motion, color shifts, and changes in pitch always led to questions during their short breaks between flights.

Passing another angel always altered the flow of everything.  And while they remained fixed in place, Sam swore he saw their eyes track his movement.  It was more disturbing to see the lack of responsiveness in his mom and brother.

The first time he stood next to Gabriel, holding only his hand, something triggered in Sam’s own wings.  They lit up and _moved_ in an entirely new way, emulating the archangel.  He felt like he was hanging on to a speedboat and kicking his legs. 

“Look at you getting the hang of it!” Gabriel said gleefully when they landed.  He’d immediately crouched down, steadying Sam and looking him over for any sign of discomfort.

“The only thing I had the ‘hang of’ was your hand,” Sam said, still breathing hard.  It was getting easier, but had been so much more intense!  He hadn’t realized how much Gabriel shielded him by carrying him through the flight. 

“Nah, you did great!  And I saw those little wings trying to keep up,” Gabriel ruffled Sam’s hair with brazen pride, “You’re almost ready to try solo!”

“What?!” Sam ducked his head away from the hand and stared at Gabriel in horror.

“Not right this second,” Gabriel assured.  “And don’t forget—you have four seraphs and two archangels to make sure you don’t go astray.”

“Yeah, but…” Sam bit his lip.  This was what he wanted, right?  He needed to learn as fast as possible—needed to prove himself capable.  But even though he’d understood angel flight was nothing like birds, he hadn’t known it would be like stepping into a dream world that bordered between surreal and a nightmare.  The idea of entering it alone sent a thrill of terror through him.

“Hey,” Gabriel said softly, his face suddenly much closer, “there’s no rush here.  No one will make you try until _you_ feel ready.  I promise.”

“Stop that!”  Frustration spiked in Sam.  He wasn’t a child, damnit!  When had the world turned upside down?  Suddenly, John giving him a gun to protect himself from monsters seemed painfully _normal_ by comparison.

Gabriel pulled back, confusion vibrating through his aura.  “Stop what?”

“Being so nice!”  Sam squeezed his eyes shut.  His emotions all floated on the surface, like an oil spill over water—ready to erupt with a single spark.  Nothing wanted to stay settled and this last jump had stripped him raw. 

“Okay, kiddo,” Gabriel sighed.

Hands gripped under Sam’s arms and lifted him.  He tried to twist away but the hands pulled him closer, settling him against the familiar chest.  He felt them start walking across the yard. 

“Put me down!” Sam ordered, his voice muffled by the t-shirt. 

“Hold on, we’re almost there.”  Gabriel rubbed his back, ignoring Sam’s demands and flailing feet.  “I think it’s time for a long break.”

“I don’t need a break.”  Sam’s throat burned, and he pushed his face into the fabric.  He felt himself losing control and he hated it. 

“We all need a break, Sam.  It’s okay.”  Gabriel walked faster.

Sam heard footsteps running toward them and wished he could disappear. 

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked just seconds before Dean.

“Nothing’s wrong.  That last jump was just a little too much, I think, and now we need a break.”  Gabriel shifted Sam around in his arms. 

Sam fought back, tightening his grip on the jacket.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to burrow into the archangel or run and find a hiding place.  Part of him was still spiraling, untethered from reality, and it was terrifying. 

Gabriel made hushing noises in his ear.  “It’s okay, Sam.  You’re gonna sit with Cassie, alright?  He’s gonna crank that petrichor up to an eleven until you catch your breath.  Here we go.”

A strong arm wrapped around Sam’s waist. 

“I can walk!” he yelled.

“Are you certain?”  Castiel gave a low laugh—a rumble Sam felt through his back.

“Yes!”

Gabriel’s hands fell away and Castiel lowered him down.  The ground was a shock against his feet.  The arm let him go and Sam’s knees gave out.  His limbs flailed and found Castiel only inches away. 

“Sam?” Castiel said, holding him steady.  Sam grunted.  “You need to open your eyes.”

Heat swept across his skin and Sam knew he’d be red enough to appear sunburned.  He’d forgotten about sight.  How could he _not remember_ an entire sense? 

Sam blinked carefully, anticipating the harsh sunlight in his eyes.  Instead, he found Castiel’s face filled his vision.  When had he moved? 

As his eyes and brain focused, the spinning died down.  Each breath brought him closer to the Earth and his own body.  After a minute, he nodded to Castiel.

“Do you still wish to walk?”

“I…” Sam shifted his weight between feet.  They shook with the effort of standing.  “Not really.”

Castiel looked relieved and picked him back up.  The smell of rain filled Sam’s lungs.  It washed away the sharp edges of tension. 

Panic faded, making space for mortification.  Why had he said _any_ of those things to Gabriel?  Who tells someone to stop being nice?  No wonder he’d been given to Castiel—the archangel probably needed a break too.

“What’s got him so worked up?” Dean’s worried voice came beside Castiel’s shoulder. 

“I believe the answer is ‘everything,’” Castiel whispered.

Sam groaned.  It wasn’t a lie.

* * *

Gabriel stood beside Nuriel as they watched Castiel carry Sam toward the fire, Dean hot on their heels. 

“What happened?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”  He’d run through the entire sequence of events several times, combing through the details to find what had triggered the boy.  “Best as I can tell, he got overwhelmed on that last jump.”

Nuriel nodded.  “He was much more exposed that time.  And did I see his wings try to fly with you?”

“Yup.” 

“But that is not what has you worried,” she observed.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair.  “There’s something else going on with him.  I just…don’t know what it is yet.”

“Something new?”

“I think so.”

“The good thing about such young grace,” Nuriel said, leaning against him, “is that it can never keep secrets.  It will always tell you what’s wrong in the end.”

“Yeah, but that’s before a _Winchester_ had grace!” Gabriel gave an empty laugh.  “If anyone could outsmart the system, it would one of them.”

Nuriel grabbed his elbow, turning him to face her.  She smiled and slowly shook her head.  “He may try to conceal the problem.  He may try to bury it out of sight.  He may even try to deny it exists to himself.  But his grace cannot, _will not_ , allow it forever.  You just have to pay attention.”


	9. Teach Your Parents Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: anxiety attacks, VERY brief and vague mentions of spanking, and INTENSE EMOTIONAL SCENES.  
> There's not a whole lotta fluffs in this chapter, but I promise to make it up to you (there are, like, 2-3 chapters of PURE FLUFF planned...I SWEAR)!!! I just wanted to give y'all a heads up here. This chapter came in at just under 13k, and only about 500 of that is fluff. 
> 
> ENJOY!! <3<3<3

Gabriel fiddled nervously with his jacket on the bunker’s lawn.  Double checked to make sure his messenger bag holding the laptop was secure.  Ran his fingers through his hair.  Re-fiddled with his jacket.

“Stop that,” Raphael tutted, knocking his hands away and fixing Gabriel’s collar.  “You are fine.”

“Says you,” Gabriel mumbled.  “You’ve been back several times.  And you didn’t leave for several centuries.”

“I may as well have left—for all the good I did.  Now,” Raphael ruffled Gabriel’s hair, “are you ready?”

“No,” Gabriel pouted, “but let’s go.  If we waited till I was ready, we’d never leave.”

“Come on, brother.”  Raphael grinned.  “There are many seraphs who have been celebrating your return and are eager to see you again.”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” Gabriel sighed, then spread his wings and flew home.

They landed in Heart Hall—a place filled with fond memories of song and dance and love. 

Gabriel gasped to see it now.  The once opulent hall had crumbled into ruins.  Several towering pillars laid broken across the floor.  Intricate carvings of art and verse were coated in dust and soot from battles he had not been there to fight. 

His gaze drifted from the walls to the faces that filled the room.  The seraphs had fallen silent in surprise and awe when they’d entered.  Gabriel’s grace churned when he realized they were _all_ in vessels and that most of their wings were in tatters. 

He didn’t have long to lament.  Within seconds, an almighty cheer rose through the Host, echoing across Heaven as word spread.  **_The Messenger has returned!! Gabriel!  Gabriel is here!_**

“Hey kids!” Gabriel said with a soft smile, trying not to wince at the rising volume of yelling over angel radio.  “ **Miss me?** ”

The seraphs rushed forward, many with tears in their eyes.  Gabriel’s arms instantly came up, embracing as many as possible.  He felt their excitement and pain as his own.  Raphael’s hand on his back offered calm strength and kept him from being overwhelmed by their siblings’ emotions.

“ **What is this I hear?** ” A soft voice rose above all the others and the seraphs fell silent once again, though their joy remained as they turned to face the newcomer.  “ **Could it be that my baby brother has returned to grace me with his presence?** ”

Gabriel raced through the Hall and launched himself at Michael.  The Commander caught him easily, spinning around once from the force of his momentum.  Laughter filled the Hall.  Gabriel’s alone was louder than the rest of the seraphs combined. 

“ **Hello, Gabriel,** ” Michael whispered, holding him tight.  “ **It is good to have you in Heaven once again.** ”

“ **It is good to be back—which are words I never thought I would say.** ”  Gabriel laughed and wiped his tears against Michael’s shirt.  “ **I was not sure I would be welcome.** ”

“ **Always.** ”  Michael pulled back to grasp Gabriel’s face with both hands and touched their foreheads together.  “ **You always have and always will be welcome here.  Heaven is your home and we are your family—no matter how many other homes and families you gather along the way.** ”

Raphael waded through their siblings to reach them.  “ **Shall we?** ”  He gestured toward the door.

Gabriel nodded and adjusted his bag.  As much as he wanted to greet every single member of the Host, he simply did not have the time for it tonight.  He turned to the Hall and waved.  “ **I promise to say goodnight before I leave!  Everyone, behave.  Do not do anything I would not!** ”

Raphael snorted.  “ **And what exactly is it that makes the list of ‘things you would not do?’** ”

“ **Nothing,** ” Gabriel whispered with a grin. 

He followed the older archangels through the door and down a hallway.  These had been bustling corridors of activity when Gabriel had last been here, although they’d looked very different.  Apparently, Heaven had modernized—everything had a sleek, minimalist look to it. 

One room had two guards stationed on either side of the entrance.  They nodded to Michael as he unlocked the door and entered.  Gabriel froze when he saw the inside.

The walls were covered.  Photographs, maps, blueprints—all with copious notes detailing names, dates, places, and routines.  The tables held piles of papers and books.  A radio sat to the side where a seraph listened to a stream of reports coming through from angels in the field.  

“ **Someone has been very busy,** ” Gabriel said, giving a low whistle. 

“ **You thought we would bide our time?** ” Michael asked as he walked around the central table.  “ **I have agents monitoring every member of the Men of Letters—in every country the organization is currently active.  So far, only the British members are engaged in practices we deem unacceptable.** ”

“ **You may not even need my intel for this,** ” Gabriel mused.  He looked at all the faces on the wall and wondered which ones had participated in hurting their sibling and Sam.  They were all guilty in his book but he wanted to know who carried the _most_ guilt.

“ **Oh, no.  We definitely need your help.**   **We are unable to infiltrate the inside of their facility.** ”  Michael grinned, slow and dangerous.  “ **Or we could, but it would not be by stealth.** ” 

“ **I believe I can help with that.  Although, this may be difficult—human technology does not always work amid so much grace.** ”  Gabriel set the laptop on the table and pulled out a thick stack of paper.  “ **Good thing I printed out all the important information.** ”

“ **Excellent.  And I have found a solution to the grace interference.** ”  Michael tapped the seraph who sat by the radio.  “ **Can you please ask Ash to join us?** ”

“ **You are working with humans now, Michael?  Excellent.** ”  Gabriel grinned at the prospect. 

“ **They are quickly becoming indispensable to our efforts to rebuild.  I do not know how, but they have learned to manipulate grace all on their own.  I need to give you a tour of the communities they have created.** ”

“ **I would like that,** ” Gabriel sorted through his papers, laying them out in various piles, “ **but not on this visit.  I need to return before everyone wakes.** ”

“ **How is Samuel?** ” Michael asked.  Gabriel hesitated and the Commander frowned.  “ **Not well?  Do you have need of any resources?  We can certainly spare more Caretakers.  Or Architects—do you need better facilities on Earth?** ”

Gabriel huffed a breath and held up a hand, halting his brother’s worried tirade.  “ **More angels in the mix will not help.  Samuel barely spoke to anyone in the week preceding his first time meeting the guard.  It ended up going well, considering, but it was a great stress to him.  And he is still adjusting to their presence.** ”

“ **Then what worries you, brother?** ”  Michael glanced at Raphael for assistance, but the Healer looked just as concerned. 

“ **We do not know—that is the problem,** ” Raphael answered. 

“ **It may be nothing,** ” Gabriel said, “ **or it may be everything.  Samuel has been acting odd, like he is hiding something.** ”

Michael’s mouth twisted, fighting a grin.  “ **A fledgling who manages to keep secrets from two archangels, four seraphs, and two humans.  I can see why you are concerned.** ”

Gabriel smacked him in the arm.  “ **You are not helping.** ”

“ **My apologies.** ”  Michael rubbed his arm and moved out of reach.  “ **And how goes his training?  Sariel reports he has begun to learn flight.** ”

“ **He will be trying his first solo flight tomorrow!** ”  Gabriel felt he might burst with pride.  Heaven help him if he started carrying pictures of Sam in a wallet—he’d be compelled to show every angel, creature, and person he met. 

“ **So soon?** ” Michael gasped.

“ **What can I say?  The boy is a natural.  His grace work is exceptional, he is practically fearless when trying new things, and you should see him read.  I think he has almost finished the books Raphael brought him in less than three weeks!** ”

Raphael nodded.  “ **Although, I have been informed by Nuriel that my selection was highly inappropriate for Samuel’s age and knowledge.** ”

The door opened, admitting a human Gabriel had never met.  “Howdy, boss man!  I heard you needed my assistance.  What can I do for the big burrito today?”

Gabriel was glad he wasn’t drinking anything—he would have spewed it everywhere.  “Do you even _know_ what a ‘burrito’ is, Mickey?”

“Yes, I do.  Ash, allow me to introduce my younger brother, Gabriel.” 

“Younger, cooler, more awesome brother.”  Gabriel winked.

Michael ignored him and ushered the man into a seat, sliding the laptop closer.  “This is what I need assistance with today.  Can you make this work in Heaven?”

Ash pulled out a marker and began drawing sigils across the closed lid.  Tiny characters, mostly Enochian, rapidly covered every free inch.  When he finished, he opened the screen and turned it on.  “Presto, mis amigos!” Ash said with a flourish as the log-in screen appeared.  “You’ll have no problem with power either.  I’ve made it so the battery draws juice from Heaven itself.”

“Nice!” Gabriel said, impressed.  He’d heard stories from the Winchesters about the genius of their friend, but this was beyond his expectations.  “Mickey definitely needs to give you a raise.”

Michael stared at the screen blankly.  “I do not know what to look for—where do I begin?”

Gabriel grimaced.  “We’ll let Ash navigate through their systems for you.  I’m sure he’ll find even more than I did—and I found a _lot._   But this might be a good place to start.”  He reached over Ash’s shoulder and brought up the video file of Sam’s captivity.  “I’m either gonna have to speed this up or come back when it’s finished.  There’s about twenty-four hours’ worth of footage here.”

Ash pushed away from the table.  “I don’t need to watch my man get hurt.  I already heard it when his screamed rocked through Heaven and that was _way_ more than enough.  Y’all have at it and call me back when you need me to sort through their server.”

Michael’s focus stayed fixed on the screen, not even noticing Ash’s departure.  Gabriel had forwarded the footage to when Sam first appeared and the Commander was shaking with rage already.  With a few clicks to adjust playback settings, he started the video.  

By the time it finished, Michael’s eyes danced red-gold with righteous fury. 

* * *

Sam ached _everywhere._  

It had been almost a week since he’d started flying.  He’d spent the whole weekend flying alongside Gabriel before attempting his first solo flight that Monday.  It was an experience he’d never forget. 

“You sure about this, Sammy?” Gabriel asked, kneeling down in front of him.

“It’s ‘Sam.’  And yes, for the seventh time, I am sure.”  Sam tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

The task was becoming increasingly difficult.  Every time one of the angels asked if he was okay or certain about something, he felt annoyed.  It built like pressure under his skin and he worried it might make him explode. 

Gabriel nodded, clearly not convinced.  He shuffled backwards awkwardly on his knees until there was about three feet of space separating them.  Then, he put his arms out.  “Okay, _Sam_.  Come at me!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sam blurted out.  It was like he was an infant taking his first steps.

“What?” Gabriel frowned, looking around without dropping his arms.  “Too far?”

_Oh my God—he’s serious,_ Sam thought, shaking his head.  “Too close.”

“Why don’t you try it first.  It’s gonna feel a lot farther without me helping—believe me.” 

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  He found it easier to feel the other angels’ grace when he didn’t look at them.  Slowly, he reached out toward the warm current that sat so close.

Several minutes passed without any change.  He pushed hard, trying to get closer—kept pushing until he felt his wings activate.  The world started spinning and he opened his eyes. 

He wanted to gasp, but there was no air _in between_ time and space.  Gabriel was there, just out of reach—a motionless statue except for the spark of perception in his eyes.  Six golden wings remained suspended around them like a cage of light, ready to keep Sam from flying in the wrong direction.

Sam turned his head and saw Castiel standing several feet behind him.  The guard and Raphael were spaced throughout the yard, prepared to move if needed.  He looked at Gabriel again and tried to push forward.

Nothing happened.

His wings felt like they were on fire from the effort.  Time had no meaning here—no breaths or heartbeats to count it passing.  He tried to take a physical step but his body didn’t respond. 

Panic set in.  Sam couldn’t reach Gabriel, couldn’t move his body, couldn’t remember how to get out of this place.  He wondered if angels had ever died while _between_. 

He didn’t see Gabriel move—the world just suddenly appeared as the archangel’s arms wrapped around him.  Sam gasped, bursting into a flurry of motion now that the universe was unfrozen.  The arms around him tightened, grounding him in reality. 

“Okay.  Okay.  You’re alright.  Here, let’s sit down.  You’re okay, I promise.”  Gabriel’s voice was a steady stream of reassurances as he pulled Sam onto the grass with him.

Sam turned and laid face down in the dirt.  He wanted to hug the whole Earth at once and never move again.  Who needed to fly anyway?  He didn’t even leave the bunker to go grocery shopping. 

Gabriel sprawled out too, keeping his hand on Sam’s back.  “You doing okay?”

“No,” Sam grumbled into the grass.

“Still think I was too close?”

“I hate you.”

Gabriel laughed.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll get it.  It just takes time.”  His hand ran over Sam’s wings, trying to soothe. 

Pain erupted at the touch and Sam made an effort to roll away.  His grace shuddered from his wings to his core.  He grabbed a handful of grass and got his knees under him, desperate for distance.

“No, no, no—don’t do that.  Hold on, Raphael’s coming.”  Gabriel’s hand shifted to Sam’s shoulder.  It only slightly helped.

Footsteps pounded across the yard toward them.  Sam groaned and swallowed back the lunch that was threatening to reappear.  He heard voices blend together above him but they were just noise until one drew closer.

“Let me see,” Raphael said in a calm rumble. 

Gabriel stood as the Healer’s grace, heavy and warm, poured over Sam like a blanket.  The pain drained away, leaving only a dull ache.  Sam sighed in relief, his muscles melting into mud. 

“How is he, Raphael?” Nuriel asked.

“He strained his grace, but he is unharmed.”  Raphael tilted Sam’s face toward him and brushed the hair from his eyes.  “Can you look at me, Samuel?”

“No.”  Sam didn’t want to open his eyes.  It required movement. 

A deep chuckle rolled over him.  “That is fine.  Let’s get you to a better place to lay down—somewhere warm and soft.  I doubt the ground will remain comfortable for long.”

Gentle hands lifted him up and settled him against a broad chest.  Sam debated protesting, but Raphael was warm and just as solid as the Earth.  Besides, moaning also took energy.  He fell asleep on a pile of pillows by the fire while Raphael massaged away the worst of the soreness. 

That had been Monday. 

He hadn’t managed to move through the _between_ place and make it to Gabriel until Tuesday.  They’d celebrated that night—after Sam had collapsed and slept hard for several hours.  Dean grilled barbecue chicken and they played card games all evening. 

By Thursday, the ache was a constant presence.  They practiced flying each day in short spurts and Sam slowly improved.  But it also meant exercising a part of himself that had never been used before.  He hadn’t been this sore since he’d started running as a four-year-old.

Raphael’s grace massages were almost worth the pain of flying.  Not that Sam had anything to compare it to, but he was pretty sure the Healer of Heaven gave the _best_ massages.  They always left his skin tingling and his mind floating.

Sam grinned at the memory as he closed the bathroom door and locked it.  Getting alone time in the bunker was nearly impossible anymore—not with angels, humans, and a shapeshifting canine constantly watching him.  Luckily, his privacy was respected during “bath time.”

He set the bundle of clothes down, carefully unfolding them until he got to the book.  His stomach twisted at the sight, ruining his earlier joy.  How could such a small thing cause so much guilt?

Sam sat down to review while the bath water filled.  He couldn’t afford to waste a precious minute on debating the ethics of his decision—not when time was this limited.  The others would be knocking at the door if he took longer than an hour. 

This might be his only chance to try.  Gabriel had gone with Raphael to visit Heaven—his second time that week.  Sam couldn’t deny the archangel his excitement, but it served to cement his own plan even more. 

One day, Gabriel would leave.  Dean and Mary would pass away, hopefully of old age.  Castiel would probably go with Dean’s soul to Heaven or rejoin the Host’s ranks.  Sam accepted this.  He just needed to be prepared.

The water finished filling the tub and he climbed in.  It was weird taking baths again—especially now that bathtubs felt like the size of swimming pools.  His favorite part about having privacy now, though, was being able to make the water as hot as he wanted. 

Sam stared at his hands.  Until reading the book, he’d always assumed that angel blades were made by some smithy in Heaven and that angels kept them stored in some sort of grace-pocket.  But it clearly stated that they were energy formed into matter—it just seemed to lack certain steps.  He’d have to improvise to fill in the blanks.

He pooled grace into his hands and visualized an angel blade—focused on the color and texture and weight.  Energy prickled down his arms, making his palms itch.  The sensation built and he tried to push it into the shape of a blade. 

Sam gasped as a spark flew off his hand.  He shoved his arms below the water, trying to put it out.  The hot water exploded around him, drenching the walls and sloshing into the floor. 

He sputtered and coughed, momentarily blinded by water in his eyes.  _Shit, shit, shit!_ he thought once he got a look at the bathroom.  A sharp pain made him yank his hands out of the bath to reveal a half-dollar sized burn on each palm. 

_SHIT!_   There was no chance he’d be able to hide them.

The doorknob jangled and then someone knocked hard enough to shake the frame. 

“Sammy?!” Dean bellowed from the other side.  “Sammy, talk to me!  You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Sam yelled back.  “I…uh…dropped the shampoo!”

The pounding stopped.  “You _what?!_ Dude, it echoed through the bunker.  It _shook_ the walls!  I’m coming in.”

“Wait!  Give me a sec to grab a towel.” 

Sam heard the tell-tale sounds of lockpicks being used his eyes went straight to the book sitting on top of his clothes.  He practically threw himself over the edge of the tub, careful not to use his hands or slip in the inch of water on the floor.  He managed to throw the book in the cabinet under the sink and grab a towel when the door slammed open.

“Dean!” he screamed, wrapping the towel around himself. 

But Dean wasn’t looking at him.  His gaze moved around the room slowly, taking in the dripping ceiling and flooded floor.  “Shampoo bottle, my ass!”  His eyes narrowed on Sam.  “What the hell, dude?”

Holding the towel carefully between his fingers, Sam held his other hand without thinking.  “Now, Dean, I can explain…”

Dean charged into the room, heedless of the water, and grabbed Sam’s wrist.  “Explain?  Explain this!”  He turned it so the palm faced up. 

“I…”  Sam swallowed, then heard the pounding of feet echo through the halls. 

Mary, Castiel, and Morpheus slid into view, their eyes going wide as they took in the state of the bathroom.

“Cas, get over here,” Dean barked. 

“What happened?” Mary asked breathlessly. 

“Guys!”  Sam heard his own voice squeak.  “I’m naked!”

“Then wear clothes next time you decide to blow up the bathroom,” Dean growled, completely unmoved.  “Cas, look at his hand.”

Castiel gently took hold of Sam’s wrist and frowned.  “This is a grace burn.”

“I-I was just,” Sam scrambled for a plausible explanation, “practicing the ball of light trick.  And it…went wrong.”

One of Castiel’s eyebrows lifted as his gaze travelled to Sam’s other hand.  “Dean, please hold your brother’s towel in place.” 

Dean knelt down and grabbed the towel as Castiel gestured for Sam to show his other hand.  Morpheus nosed his way next to them, demanding access to his charge.  Reluctantly, Sam did as he was asked and revealed the other matching burn.  Dean swore, loudly. 

Castiel studied the burns in silence.  Sam wanted to crawl back inside the bathtub and slither down the drain.  He watched Mary make her way over to the bathtub and pull the drain.  She kept shooting worried glances at him and he had to look away.   

Finally, Castiel spoke.  “I believe Raphael should look at these.  I do not have much experience healing injuries from grace.  And since you were trying to use yours, it may be prudent he examines them first,” he met Sam’s eyes, “to see what went wrong.”

Sam gulped—he was so screwed. 

“Dean, you should put some burn cream on those until Raphael returns,” Mary said, grabbing armloads of towels from a shelf.  “I’ll clean up in here.”

Castiel held Sam’s hands for a second longer, searching his gaze.  Then the seraph released him.  Sam held the towel and tried to calm his heart as it crashed against his chest. 

Dean stood, scowling at his soaked jeans.  “Come on.  First aid kit’s in the kitchen.”

Sam glanced back at the cabinet under the sink as they walked out.

* * *

Dean put the first aid kit back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter with his eyes closed.  Something was wrong with Sam—and not just the fact that he’d injured himself.  Every single Big Brother alarm had been going off for days now, growing louder with each suspicious incident. 

He wanted to blame the angel guard.  It would make things so much easier.  But the fact remained that Sam’s behavior had changed before then.  He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but he’d narrowed it down.  Something had changed between when Raphael had first returned to Heaven and Thanksgiving.   

“Dean.”  Castiel’s voice drew him from his musings.

He turned around and saw the seraph frowning in the doorway.  “What’s up, Cas?”

Castiel’s frown deepened in thought.  “I am…concerned.”

Dean snorted.  “Join the club.”

There was a time when Castiel would have asked what club he needed to join.  Dean missed those days.  Instead, the angel just nodded and walked to stand next to him.

“I do not believe Sam injured himself how he described.”

Dean straightened up.  “You think he’s lying?”  He’d suspected that there was more to the story.

“He is either lying or not telling the whole story.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean sighed, “I thought we were past this.”

Castiel shot him a sharp glare.  “You both lie constantly—to law enforcement, to witnesses, to each other.  This is not a new behavior.”

“Hey, now.  We may lie on the job…or _did_ lie on the job when we still had one.  But that is not the same as lying to each other—which we haven’t done in a while.  I think.”  Dean tried to remember the last time he’d lied to Sam about something big. 

“You lied to him at breakfast when you said you were out of strawberries because you wanted him to eat more eggs and bacon.”

“Well…yeah.  But I’m talking about important lies, Cas.  Not stupid little white lies.”  Besides, he’d piled strawberries on the kid’s plate _while saying it_.  That didn’t count.

“All I know is that he did not get those burns from creating grace light.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.  “How?  I mean, he blew out the lights in the bunker the first time he made them.”

“Yes—because his energy surged outward.  But this is different.”  Castiel huffed in frustration.  “Even if he’d kept the grace in his palms when it ‘blew,’ it would not have burned him like that.  It is difficult to explain.  The grace used for that exercise is minimal—it is about control.  To make those burns, he would have been amassing a much larger amount.”

Dean went to the fridge and got a beer.  This whole situation called for alcohol.  “Where’s Sammy now?” 

“He is watching a movie with Mary and Morpheus.  I believe it is _Lord of the Rings._ ”

“Good.  That’ll keep him occupied for a while.”  He popped the lid off the bottle and took a swig.  “When will the archangels get back?”

Castiel’s head tilted and his eyes grew distant as he consulted with his brothers.  “Soon.”

“Not soon enough.”  Dean grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.  “Come on.  May as well watch some Hobbits while we wait.”

The archangels arrived just as Dean was changing out the discs halfway through the movie.  Sam was mostly asleep against Mary, his little bandaged hands cradled to his chest.  Gabriel and Raphael’s eyes both went wide at the sight and their heads turned at once to Dean for explanations. 

Dean pressed play on the DVD and motioned them into the hallway.  Castiel followed on his heels as Mary took sole custody of “Sammy Watching.”  They closed the door partway as Aragorn’s voice drifted through the speakers.

“What happened?” Gabriel hissed quietly.  “We were only gone a few hours.  Why didn’t you pray to us?”

Dean shrugged and looked at Castiel, feeling helpless with his lack of understanding.

“We are not entirely sure what occurred.  Sam was very…vague on the details.”

“No, he’s not being vague.  He’s lying,” Dean clarified.  Anger and fear battled it out in his chest at the memory of feeling the bunker shudder. 

Castiel nodded, sad and slow, and explained what had happened from their perspective.  The archangels listened, concern growing with every word.  Dean wasn’t used to others getting as worked up over his brother’s wellbeing—it was an oddly satisfying experience, if a little disconcerting. 

“You’re telling me Sam blew up his bath and tried to blame it on grace-light?” Gabriel asked in bewilderment. 

“And that’s not possible…because those balls of light take less energy?”  Dean still didn’t understand it all, but he was trying.  Plus, “things that blow-up” all registered the same in his book. 

“It is also a matter of frequency and vibrations, but yes—it takes a much greater amount of energy to affect water in the way you described.  Especially if they resulted in burns.  I must see his hands.”  Raphael led them back into the media room and sat on an ottoman in front of Sam.

Morpheus’ head rose up from where he sat, snuggled into Sam’s side.  He glanced at the newcomers and nodded.  Dean thought the canine looked relieved—the little furball had been plastered to Sam since the bathroom. 

The kid woke with a start when the Healer gently drew his hands away from his chest.  Hazel eyes, unfocused from sleep, blinked once before flying wide open at the sight of Raphael.  Sam sat up, instinctively trying to pull his arms back but the Healer held firm.

“I heard you had an adventurous bath,” Raphael said calmly as he began unwrapping one hand.  He smiled, trying to put Sam at ease but the kid was too nervous.  Dean sat next to him on the couch when hovering didn’t give him a clear enough view.  Morpheus squirmed so he was more on Sam’s lap instead of being smooshed into the cushion. 

Gabriel moved to stand over the Healer’s shoulder, watching as Sam’s palms were slowly revealed.  There were several winces when the final piece of gauze was removed to reveal blistered skin.  “That looks painful, kiddo.”

Sam shrugged, his expression going stoic.  Dean saw through it, more fluent in “Sammy” than in English.  The kid’s body language screamed, “guilty and trying to hide it.”

Raphael hummed to himself as he examined the burn closely.  “What were you trying to do exactly?”

“I was practicing the light-ball,” Sam said, keeping his eyes on their hands, “and experimenting with it.”

“In what way?”  Raphael pushed the kid’s sleeve up and looked at his wrist and arm.

“Just…playing with intensity.  Seeing if I could make one in each hand.” 

Dean saw Castiel and Gabriel exchange looks.  Not for the first time, he wished he could see Sammy’s wings.  He didn’t _need_ to see them to read his brother, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have a whole other aspect of insight.

“And did you?”  The Healer reached for the other hand and started removing the wrap.

“Did I what?”

“Create two balls of light?”

Sam took too long thinking about it.  “Yeah.  I think so.  I kinda had my eyes closed.”

Frustration built as Dean waited for _someone_ to confront Sam on his obvious lies.  Why were they all acting so casually about this?  Why the delay?

“And how intense were you trying to make it?”  Raphael’s voice rumbled smoothly. 

Sam shrugged again, curling in tighter on the couch. 

Dean debated shifting back a little in his seat—the poor kid was wedged between him and their mom with two archangels towering above.  Only Castiel hung back, content to watch from the doorway.  He gave up on moving when he saw the right palm’s burn was even worse than the first.  It had been bad when he’d bandaged it but it seemed to have spread some since then. 

“Close your eyes,” Gabriel said. 

“What?” Sam asked, his eyes doing the opposite. 

Gabriel grinned and snapped the lights low, turning off the television as well.  “Close your eyes and tell me when the light gets as intense as you remember.  You know—through your eyelids.”  Sam gulped and shut his eyes.  Gabriel leaned over Raphael’s shoulder and reached a glowing palm toward the kid.  “I’m gonna keep making it brighter till you tell me to stop.”

The ball of light shone gold and white.  It started as a soft radiance but gradually increased until Dean could clearly make out the movement of energy within.  The room soon became brighter than ever and he had to look away. 

“Yeah.  Stop.”  Sam said in a small voice. 

“Hmm,” Gabriel mused.  He waved his hand and the blinding light disappeared.  Another snap brought the room’s lights and television back on.  “That’s pretty intense, Samshine.  I think you’ve officially earned that nickname!”

Dean glared at him, trying to convey as much “what the fuck?” as he could with eyes alone.  He refrained from growling in exasperation when Gabriel just shook his head—angels either had more patience or a better plan than him.  And he wished they’d share some of either with him.

“I can heal these—but no more experimenting without an angel’s supervision.  We do not want your mother or brother caught in an accidental grace explosion.  Agreed?”  Raphael leaned closer toward Sam.

“Agreed,” Sam answered quickly.  Dean saw fear flicker across the kid’s face as he glanced at their mom.  He wondered if Sam feared being caught or if he’d scared himself doing whatever fool-thing that had burned him. 

Raphael smiled and held Sam’s palms easily between his own.  A glimmer of light shone briefly from where their hands met, and then it was gone.  When the Healer sat back, the burned skin was once again pink and unblemished. 

Dean felt something relax in his chest.  Of course, it wouldn’t last—the Winchesters just weren’t that lucky.  He just needed to discover the source of Sam’s lie before something worse than bathwater exploded.  

* * *

Everyone had been watching him since Thursday night.  Sam felt their gazes follow him whether he was practicing flight in the yard or eating breakfast.  Even Morpheus stayed closer, following him to the bathroom and waiting in the hallway until he finished his business.  He’d had to sneak the book back to his room by smuggling it into his hoodie and hiding it once the canine started snoring.

Dean was the worst.  He _knew_ Sam was lying.  His eyes screamed silent accusations whenever they saw each other.

It was a familiar dance to new music.  They had kept enough secrets through the years to recognize when it started again.  But Sam was not used to Dean remaining quiet.  If he knew something, there was a guaranteed fight on the horizon. 

By Saturday, Sam felt like he was losing his mind.  Paranoia made him jumpy.  He snapped at everyone, teetering between guilt and anger from moment to moment. 

He knew he was out of control when he yelled at Mary.  She’d playfully ruffled his hair at lunch, cooing about how well he’d done with flying that morning.  Irritation, so strong that it physically hurt his chest, surged through him.

“Stop fucking touching me!” he screamed.  He heard the hysteria in his own voice and wished he could stop his words even as they poured from his mouth.  “Stop treating me like a child!  I get it—I’m small and my hair is curly and you think I’m fucking cute!  But fucking _stop!_ ”

Mary snatched her hand away like he’d burned her, cheeks blazing and unable to respond. 

Dean stood, knocking his chair back several inches.  “Knock it off, Sam!  Absolutely _no one_ thinks your fucking cute.  You’ve been an ugly little shit for days and I’m sick of it.”

Sam scrambled down from his chair and stormed toward the hall.  His whole body shook with adrenaline and rage and shame.  The sound of a fist slamming the tabletop stopped him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dean barked.

“Away!” Sam yelled without turning around. 

“Don’t you _dare_ walk outta this room without apologizing to Mom!”

Sam pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to regain control.  The silence behind him was like a physical presence.  He couldn’t look at them—couldn’t face their hurt and disappointment.  “Sorry, Mom.” 

“It’s okay,” she said.  Sam hated himself for causing the sadness in her voice.

“It’s _not fucking_ okay,” Dean said before Sam could respond.  “I’m tired of this attitude.  For someone so worried about being rude to strangers, you sure have no problem being nasty to your own family!”

“Enough, Dean,” Mary cut in. 

“Enough?” Dean barked an angry laugh.  “Are you kidding me?  You should bust his butt for talking to you that way!”

Bile burned Sam’s esophagus.  Dean was right—their Dad certainly would never have tolerated his behavior the last few days.  Their Mom had every right to…

“I will do no such thing!” Mary said firmly, anger finally filtering into her voice.  “John may have used violence to enforce his rules, but I am _not_ your father.  I do not need you intervening on my behalf, thank you very much.”

Sam ran.  He couldn’t listen to them argue anymore.  This was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix any of it. 

The clicking of nails against the floor followed him down the hall.  Morpheus caught up to him by the time he reached his room.  The canine waited patiently, nuzzling at his neck while Sam fought with the doorknob. 

_Just breathe, pup.  No one else is coming._

Sam tried to obey, but his lungs didn’t get the memo.  Everything was too tight—his chest, his throat, his skin.  He couldn’t relax enough to draw breath until he made it safely inside his room and locked the door behind them.  Then, he gulped air like a drowning man.  The rush of oxygen left him dizzy.

He threw himself onto the bed.  What was happening to him?  He’d never felt so helter-skelter, like his own mind and emotions were revolting against him.  They spun him around worse than flying _between_. 

Morpheus shifted down and leapt onto the bed.  _Talk to me, Sam.  What is going on?_

“I don’t know,” Sam groaned into his pillow, then turned his head to find the tiny white face only an inch away.  “I feel like I’m going crazy.  Again.”

_In what way?_

“I…it’s hard to explain.”

_Try, please?_

Sam rolled onto his back and watched the ceiling fan slowly rotate.  It usually calmed him.  “It’s like there’s this storm under my skin that just keeps building and building but has no where to go.  I’m so angry all the time—for no reason.  And it hurts!  It makes me want to punch things or hit my head against a wall, just to relieve the pressure.”

_I am sorry._   Morpheus nosed into Sam’s hair, curling up against his neck and shoulder. _Will you talk to one of the angels about it?  It may be a grace-thing._

“I can’t!  It…it gets worse around them.  Like something is trying to claw its way out of my chest.”  Sam rubbed at his sternum, hoping to ease the sensation.

Someone knocked on his door.  Sam closed his eyes, wanting them to just go away.  A second knock made that dream vanish.

“Sam?  Can I come in?”  Mary’s voice was muffled by the door. 

He wiped his face before rolling off the bed and unlocking the door.  She smiled softly as she wrung her hands.  Her nervousness made him feel even worse. 

Sam moved aside and let her enter.  “I really am sorry,” he said quietly.

She sighed, nodding as she sat at his desk.  “I know, Sammy.  And I forgive you.  This has been hard for all of us.”

“It doesn’t excuse what I said.”  Sam looked down at his own hands.

“Maybe not, but I can understand your frustration.  I mean, I can’t imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover you’re an angel.”

“Well, I can’t imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover your kids had grown up to be hunters.”

“You still take the gold for ‘unexpected revelations.’”  Her smile grew to a lopsided grin he couldn’t help but return.

“It’s like the worst competition ever.”

Mary laughed.  “You got that right.”

Sam’s smile fell away, and he walked to the opposite side of the bed from where Mary sat.  Instead of climbing onto the mattress, he stood and picked at a thread on the blanket.  “Is this the part where you lecture or yell at me?”

“No.  I was hoping this was the part where we talked to each other like people.  And then maybe we’d go watch the second _Lord of the Rings_ movie.”  Mary frowned.  “Why?  Do you think I should yell or lecture?”

“I…” Sam stopped, not sure how to answer.  Part of him felt like he deserved a good, loud lecture.  Maybe it would ease the strange pressure. 

“Sam,” Mary said when he didn’t continue, “your brother was wrong to say what he did.”

“No, I was…I was awful!  I should never have said those things to you.”

“So, you think I should follow your brother’s suggestion?” she asked.

He stared at her without blinking.  There was no way they were having this conversation.  It didn’t even feel real. 

“Sam?” she pressed, clearly wanting an answer.

“Huh?”

“Is that why you think I’m here?  To punish you somehow?” 

He shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor, not willing to answer outright. 

“Oh, ba-Sammy,” she sighed, correcting herself mid-word.

Emotions muddled Sam’s mind.  He didn’t want to be treated like a child.  Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want his mother to stop calling him all the little names mothers use.  But how could he have both?  How could he _want_ both?

Mary stood and walked around the bed to kneel next to him.  “Sam, I’m still figuring out what it means to be your mom.  But if there’s one thing I know it does not include, it’s hitting you.  Not going to happen.  Let’s just put that out there now.”  She tapped his chin until he met her eyes.  “And I don’t mean because you’ve got a big old adult brain shoved in that noggin’ either.  I didn’t hit Dean as a kid, and I had no intentions of starting as either of you grew older.  Understand?”

Sam didn’t understand any of it, but he nodded. 

“Good.  Now, how about you and I go chill out and watch some movies, hmm?”  She leaned in closer like she was sharing a secret.  “I find myself needing to know what happens next.  And I could definitely stare at Aragorn and Legolas for a few hours.”

Sam thought he might cry from sheer relief.  What had he done to deserve such a mother?  He nodded eagerly.  “Yeah.  I could probably go for that too.”

Mary’s eyes went wide with surprise.  “Oh.  Really?  I hadn’t considered…” she trailed off, shaking her head. 

Sam quickly replayed the conversation in his head and gasped when he realized what he’d implied.  Not that he _didn’t_ enjoy staring at Aragorn and Legolas—they were each aesthetically pleasing in their own ways.  But he hadn’t exactly expressed that to anyone in his lifetime either. 

“That’s not…I mean…” Sam tripped over his words in a rush to explain.

Mary just laughed and waved it off.  “I don’t care, Sammy.  It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other—or both ways?  Honestly, I’m still learning a lot of the terms.  Who knew there were so many ways of describing sexualities and genders?  It’s fascinating.”

Sam’s cheeks blazed hot as he followed her to their media room.  He hadn’t given his own sexuality much thought in recent years.  And it wasn’t like it would be an issue again for the next few centuries. 

He helped her figure out the DVD player and they leaned against each other on the couch to watch with Morpheus curled up against him.  An hour later, Dean and Castiel joined them.  Sam tensed in his seat.

Dean exhaled loudly, hesitating in the doorway until Castiel shoved him forward.  He scooped Morpheus into Sam’s lap and sat next to them.  Then, he slowly reached his arm out and pulled Sam into his side.  “I’m sorry, dude,” he whispered even though no one was paying attention to the movie.

“Me too,” Sam said, finally relaxing. 

“I shouldn’t have said that…that thing about…Mom would never…” Dean’s voice sounded as broken as his words. 

“I know.”  He pressed his face into Dean’s jacket and felt his brother’s arm tighten around him. 

“I don’t know why I…”

“Shut up and watch the movie, Dean.”  Sam shifted so his head rested on Dean’s leg.  Mary snagged his feet and put them on her lap.  Morpheus rearranged himself so he was laying against Sam’s stomach.  Once everyone was settled, Sam never wanted to move again. “Some of us are trying to bask in the glory of Aragorn and various elves.  So, shush!”

Dean choked on laughter he tried to smother and pulled Castiel down beside him.  “You heard the guy, Cas.  Sit down and bask.”

When the first disc ended, Sam realized the archangels still hadn’t joined them.  “Where are Gabriel and Raphael?”

“Not sure.  They mentioned having another meeting in Heaven tonight.”  Dean stood, careful not to let Sam’s head fall as he went to change the disc.  “I don’t know when they’re leaving, though.”

“They won’t leave for another hour or two,” Castiel said.  “Did you need to talk to them before they go?”  The seraph brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. 

Sam shook his head, fighting not to moan at how those fingers felt.  “No.  I was just curious.  They don’t usually miss out on movie-time.”

“Gabe’s been doing a lot of ‘nesting’ lately when he thinks we aren’t watching,” Dean said with a snicker—and used Castiel’s signature air-quotes gesture with a wink.

“Like what?”  Mary asked, grinning at the scowl Castiel sent Dean for mocking him. 

“Like decorating rooms with little things.  Or doing the dishes by hand.  I think tonight is laundry—we saw him headed toward the washroom with a bunch of towels.”  Dean wormed his way into his seat, maneuvering Sam back into place. 

The words didn’t fully register in Sam’s mind.  He was too comfortable.  And once the movie started playing again, he was too lost in the fantasy of Middle Earth to think about reality.

It happened near the end of the film—just as Gandalf appeared with the dawn at Helms Deep.  Sam had started to drift slightly, lulled by his brother’s hand carding through his hair.  Then, Gabriel’s voice cut through the soaring music and directly into Sam’s head. 

**_Samuel Winchester—your room, right now!!_ **

Sam jumped so hard he fell off the couch.  Mary and Dean’s hands grabbed for him, but he was already rolling to his knees on the floor.  He looked at Castiel—the seraph’s eyes were alarmingly wide.

“What?!”  Dean looked between him and Castiel, instantly on high-alert.  “What’s happening?”

Sam couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.  All the air was gone from the room.  One thought screamed through his mind, louder than Gabriel’s own words— _HE KNOWS!_  

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Mary asked, reaching for him.  Sam shied away, pushing to his feet and staggering back several steps. 

“Someone better start talking,” Dean growled.

“Gabriel called for Sam,” Castiel answered, his voice reflecting Sam’s own shock. 

“So?  Is there danger?”  Dean stood, preparing for battle.  “Is he in trouble?  Do we need guns or blades?  _I need information, folks!_ ”

“He is calling him to his bedroom,” Castiel clarified, “and he sounded…”

“Angry,” Sam finished in a small voice. 

Dean’s gaze narrowed on Sam, studying him closely.  He always saw through him and recognized hidden truths.  “He’s found what you’ve been lying about.”  It wasn’t a question.

Tears burned Sam’s eyes but he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. 

**_I said, “right now,” Samuel!  You have one minute._ **

Sam flinched and forced himself to keep breathing. 

“You better go,” Castiel said softly, adding a tight nod for encouragement.  It didn’t help. 

His body went numb as he slowly staggered toward the door.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean start to follow.  Castiel stopped him, shaking his head.  Morpheus had no such inhibitions, shifting into his larger size and silently padding along with Sam.

The hallway had never seemed so dark and long.  Each step became harder as his mind whirled with all the excuses he knew would fail.  Only Morpheus’ nose occasionally nudging him kept him moving forward.  Maybe Gabriel _hadn’t_ found the book. 

_Sure,_ his mind scoffed, _he’s just shouting over angel radio because he’s highly disappointed in your sock drawer organization._  

The door to his room was already open.  Sam paused outside, debating whether or not vomiting would increase the archangel’s sympathies.  He doubted it. 

A figure moved in the doorway, large enough to block the light from inside.  Sam blinked and looked up to find a stone-faced Raphael.  He stepped back in alarm, not expecting _both_ archangels. 

“Come in, Samuel,” Raphael said, moving aside to make room for Sam to pass.

The blanket and sheets from his bed were laying in a pile on the floor.  Gabriel stood next to the mess, staring down at the book in disbelief, and Sam’s heart sank.  The Messenger had never appeared so still.

No one spoke right away.  Sam shuffled into the room and stood by the wall farthest away from Gabriel.  The bed between them provided no safety but the solid cement at his back helped keep him upright.  Morpheus sat by his side, adding another barrier separating Sam from the others.

Finally, Gabriel held up the book.  “Where…where did you get this?”  He sounded distant, like he was in shock instead of angry. 

Sam dug a thumb into his palm, needing to ground himself in something.  “I…it w-was with the books.  From Heaven.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted to Raphael, who frowned.  Then, the Healer’s eyes lit with revelation and chagrin.  “I kept it on my desk after you left.  I must have accidentally scooped it up with the others in my haste.”

“That doesn’t negate the fact that Sam knew we wouldn’t want him to read it.”  Gabriel turned to him.  “Am I right?”

“I-I didn’t know that for sure,” Sam said, looking down.

“Really?”  Gabriel’s voice turned hard and sarcastic.  “You keep all your books wedged between the mattress and headboard?  Hidden under the fitted sheet?”

“No.” 

“I didn’t think so.”  Gabriel began pacing.  “This…this is what you were trying to do when you blew up the bathroom, isn’t it?  You were trying to manifest an angel blade.”

Morpheus’ head snapped back to look at Sam in alarm.  The canine had known the book contained something that might upset the angels, but he’d never pressed for details.  His blue eyes looked wounded at the unspoken deception. 

“Yes.”  Sam pressed himself harder against the wall, wishing he could disappear. 

Gabriel stopped and took a step toward Sam, his voice dropping lower.  “Do you know how dangerous that was?”

“I was just trying to…”

“What, summon a weapon that has the ability to _kill angels?_ ”  He took another step forward.

Sam’s stomach turned—did Gabriel think he’d wanted the weapon to use against _them_?  “I needed to know…for defense…”

A blade dropped into Gabriel’s hand.  It was larger than the ones Dean had collected off dead seraphs.  This one was longer, brighter, and gave off a hum. 

Morpheus growled a warning as the fur on his back stood on end.  Gabriel’s eyes flicked in the canine’s direction.  He didn’t back down, but remained in place across the room.

“These aren’t _knives_ , Sam.  These are swords of Heaven—made to kill demons and dark creatures and fallen angels!” Gabriel’s grace rushed through the room like a tempest. 

“I-I know!”  The wall was the only thing keeping Sam upright as his knees turned to liquid.  “We’ve used them before.”

Raphael placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.  The Messenger shuddered and reeled his grace in, visibly trying to calm down.  His blade disappeared.

“Samuel,” Raphael turned to him, “you have used an angel blade as a human.  They posed no more danger to you than any other dagger or knife.  But you are an angel now—and an angel blade does not just cut flesh.  It cuts grace.”

Sam swallowed.  He knew that—he _did_.  He just hadn’t quite taken that fact into consideration. 

“The burns on your hands are _nothing_ compared to what could happen if you summoned a blade incorrectly.  What would you have done if the blade was turned the wrong way and sliced into you?”

“I don’t know.  Called for Cas?” Sam answered in a whisper.  “I didn’t…the book didn’t say anything about…”

Gabriel laughed and Sam shut his mouth.  “No, the book _didn’t_ say anything about the dangers, did it?  You know why?  Because it was never meant to be a textbook!  It was just a dumb set of notes written down by a stupid student before the Earth even formed.”  Gabriel’s grip on the book made it crumple.

Raphael sent his brother a sad, soft look.  “You were never stupid, Gabriel.”

Sam’s mouth dropped back open.  “You…you wrote it?”

“Yes, I wrote it.  For me.”  Gabriel crushed the book to his chest.  “Not for silly little fledglings who think they’re ready to fight with weapons meant for archangels!”

“I wasn’t…I can’t summon…” Sam’s words kept lodging in his throat as his mind struggled to stay present for the conversation. 

“You are a fucking archangel, Sam!  A fledgling, but still an archangel!” Gabriel thundered.  “Dad made you the same way He made us—with His own grace.”

“But…I have a soul?” Sam edged along the wall, wishing Raphael wasn’t between him and the door. 

“Yes, you do.  And what do souls do to angel grace?  Hmm?” 

“They…” Memories flooded him—offering his soul to Castiel, not knowing it was Lucifer in disguise.  He dug harder into his palm and shivered.  “They give them a power boost.”

Gabriel’s shoulders dropped, his whole body seeming to deflate.  “Yeah.  And you have your own little power generator built right into the grace used to make archangels.  Sam, you have no idea how powerful you will become as you grow.”

“Samuel, I understand that you are used to operating within a human world with human rules.”  Raphael’s stony expression softened as he stepped around Morpheus, petting the canine’s head like he was making a promise.  “But those rules no longer apply.  You will learn what things are now harmful and what are not, but that takes time and patience.  Trust that we _will_ teach you these things.”

Sam took a deep, unsteady breath and looked down at his hands.  How could he explain the need to learn these things now—not in a year or a decade or several centuries down the line?  What if he needed that knowledge tomorrow? 

“I regret that we must leave soon—if this meeting were not so important, we would stay and discuss this further.  As it is, it may be best we take the evening to calm down and talk more in the morning.”  Raphael turned and looked around the room.  “Where are your notes?”

“My notes?” Sam asked hollowly. 

“Yes.  You kept meticulous notes on all your previous readings.  I should have realized when you did not come to me with questions…” Raphael shook his head.  “No matter.  Please retrieve them.”

Sam walked in a daze to his dresser and reached underneath to pull out the small notebook he’d kept hidden.  Gabriel snorted behind him.  It took all his control to not jump at the sound. 

Placing the small notebook in Raphael’s hand, Sam felt like he was handing over his last chance at protecting himself.  Guns and stakes were no longer options with his small hands and they did nothing against the enemies they normally faced.  The angel blade would have been _his_. 

Raphael took it with a small nod.  “Thank you.  Now, I will be taking the rest of the books—”

“No!” Sam shouted in pure panic.  “You can’t!  Please!”

Raphael shook his head and began gathering the books from Sam’s desk and nightstand.  “Nuriel was correct—these are far too advanced.  I will bring you—”

“No!”  He tried to grab the books but the archangel was too tall.  His hands grasped at Raphael’s tunic instead, yanking on the fabric to pull him down.  “Please!  I promise not to hide them.  I need them, please.” 

Raphael looked down at him with a frown.  “You have already hidden things—and that dishonesty led to you hurting yourself.  How can I trust that you will not try again if given the opportunity?”

Sam heaved a sob into the tunic, pulling hard enough to tear it.  “I’m sorry.  Please, I promise.  I’ll do anything.  I’ll take any punishment, just not this.  Please!  I’m sorry!”

He heard Raphael sigh and felt a small rush of grace as the Healer shifted to sit on the bed.  When Sam opened his eyes, he realized the books were gone—not given to Gabriel, not set down somewhere else in the room, just gone.  He’d never find them again.

“Samuel,” Raphael gently cupped his face with both hands, looking both fond and exasperated, “this is not a punishment.  I will be bringing you other books better suited to your knowledge level and needs.  Yes, we will have new rules for reading them.  Yes, we will be monitoring your reading and work more closely, but only to ensure your safety and understanding of the material.  But we will not stop teaching you.”

Movement in the doorway caught Sam’s attention and he turned to see Dean and the others standing there.  His brother’s eyes were scanning the room, appraising the situation—Sam’s tears, the pile of bedding, Gabriel’s aloof stance.  “Everyone doing okay?” Dean asked evenly. 

Sam was too upset to speak.  Raphael just nodded, but Gabriel huffed and said, “Your brother has been trying to manifest his own angel blade.”

Castiel gasped and pushed his way into the room.  “What?”

Dean frowned, taking in everyone’s reactions.  “Wouldn’t he have to _have_ a blade first?  I thought you guys got them at, like, Heaven’s weapon shop or something.”

“No,” Castiel said, looking devastated, “they are created from our grace and unique to each angel.  It is incredibly dangerous if not done properly.  I cannot imagine…I do not believe any angel has ever tried before reaching adulthood.”

“That’s because no fledgling ever considered it!” Gabriel laughed, but it sounded all wrong—too high, too emotional, too frantic.  “They were too busy playing and singing and cuddling with each other and Caretakers.”

“Yeah, well we were raised with shotguns and salt lines,” Dean reminded them all gruffly. 

The room fell silent.

Sam squirmed, not wanting Raphael’s hands on his face anymore.  They were too warm and made his skin prickle all the way down to his chest.  He didn’t like it—didn’t understand why it kept happening around the angels.

“Perhaps we should reschedule tonight’s meeting,” Raphael sighed, removing his hands.  Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from reminding the archangel that he didn’t _need_ to breathe and could therefore _stop sighing._  

“No,” Dean said, surprising everyone.  “I think everyone needs a break to calm down.  You two go ahead and go to your meeting—it’s important.  I got this.”  He brushed past Castiel and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“As you wish.”  Raphael nodded to Dean, then turned his attention back to Sam.  “Try to get some rest tonight, Samuel.  I promise I will return with more books in the morning.  And we will discuss better ways to address your concerns.”

Sam looked away without answering.  How could they address what they didn’t understand?  They’d probably come back with picture books and an ankle bracelet with a built-in baby monitor. 

Raphael stood and made his way to the door.  Sam chanced a glance over at Gabriel.  The archangel’s silence was unnerving.  He was still visibly tense—shoulders tight and drawn up, eyes narrowed and flaring with grace.  Sam leaned into Dean when Gabriel finally moved to scoop the bedding off the floor. 

Remaining in a crouch, Gabriel spoke in a rough, low tone.  “I’m sorry I scared you—but you scared me, too.  To know that you could have died using something I wrote…I can’t even tell you how much that upsets me.”

Sam swallowed, wanting to reach for the archangel but feeling frozen in place.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered for the umpteenth time that night. 

“I know, kiddo.”  Gabriel gave him a small, sad smile.  “Raph is right—you should get some sleep and we’ll all talk about this more in the morning.  Okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, barely audible to anyone except the angels. 

“Okay.”  Gabriel stood, barely keeping his grasp on the linens.  “There’s fresh sheets and blankets on his desk.  I’m gonna drop these off at the wash room before we leave.”  He paused at the doorway.  “If you need us to come back early for _anything_ just pray.”

The pressure in the room dropped slightly when both archangels left.  Sam felt his legs shake.  Dean gathered him into his arms just before he could collapse. 

“Alright, dude.  Let’s calm down and maybe Mom and Cas can fix your bed so you can lay down.  Or do you want to move to the big bedroom?” Dean offered in a hopeful tone.

Sam shivered at the thought of being watched all night.  His independence had already been diminished by his size—his own actions probably demolished what was left.  “No, I think I’ll stay here tonight,” he answered. 

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, sitting down on the desk chair.  “But you and I are gonna have a talk now.  The others may be willing to wait till morning, but I’ve already waited for days.”

Sam tried to shift away, but Dean held him so they remained facing each other.  “Dean, I’m tired,” he started to argue, but his brother cut him off.

“Then you should have tried sleeping at night instead of reading books you snuck in here.  So, tell me—what the _fuck_ were you thinking?  And I’m being serious here.  I want to know what impending doom scared you enough to try making a weapon that could have killed you.”

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered.  He fiddled with the buttons on Dean’s jacket.

“Do you think we can’t protect you?”

“It’s not that…”

“Do you think the angels can’t protect you?  Or that they won’t?  Hey.”  Dean tapped Sam’s chin, making him look up.  “I want to know—why is this so important right now?”

“I just…I need to do this, Dean.”  He stared into worried green eyes, begging him to understand.

“ _Why?_   I thought we’d agreed to retire, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, sure.  Retire.”

“Hey!” Dean said, offended.  “I haven’t looked for a single case since this started.  I’ve even fielded a few calls from hunters—told them we’re closed for business and put them in touch with others.  So, yes—retired.”

“And what about the next apocalypse, hmm?  Are we just sitting it out?  Because we’ve reached a point where the world almost ends every damn year.”

“Hell yeah, we’re sitting it out.  In case you forgot, there’s an entire army of angels we now have on our side and it’s time they did their part in protecting this planet.”

Sam frowned and stared down again.  They wouldn’t know if Michael and angels would come through for them until tested.  What if the moment of truth came and they failed?

“Sammy, man,” Dean gathered him closer, “talk to me.  What is this really about?”

“What…what am I…” Sam’s voice quivered as he tried to reign in the storm of emotion threatening to break him.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

“What do you want to do?” Mary asked quietly, sitting on the newly made bed.

“It doesn’t matter—it never matters.  Anytime I try to do anything it ends in disaster.”

“That’s not true,” Dean said.

“It fucking is true!”  Sam pushed off his lap, too restless to just sit.  “I go to school—disaster.  I return to hunt—disaster.  Dad died, I died, you made a demon deal, then you died, I drank demon blood, I released Lucifer then jumped in the cage.  And that’s just the early years!  Shall I list my failure to make decisions since then?  Amelia, the Trials, the Book of the Damned, Charlie…”

“Alright, enough!”  Dean reached out, grabbing Sam’s shirt and dragging him closer.  “Those things weren’t your fault—even if I said differently at the time, I was _wrong._   And you left out all the times you saved us.  Saved people and the world!”

“But that’s always been my role!  And now, I’m just expected to stop?”

“Yup!” Dean flicked him gently on the nose.  “You got a second chance here, dude.  We all got a second chance—to be a family and figure out what we _want_ to do, not just what we’re _supposed_ to do.”

“Yeah, that’s a great plan!” Sam scoffed, ripping himself from his brother’s grasp.  “But what about when you’re gone?  Huh?  What do I do then?!”

“Gone?” Dean sat back in surprise.  “Where am I going?”

Sam let out a frustrated growl.  “You’re gonna die, Dean!  Even if you and Mom live to reach old age, you’ll still be dead within a few decades.  And then what am I going to do?  We have no idea how I’ll age physically.  I could look ten!  How am I gonna navigate this world as a ten-year-old?  I need to know how to defend myself without you!”

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, “the angels will…”

“I’m supposed to depend on the angels?” Sam laughed and wrapped his arms across his chest.  “I’m just supposed to cross my fingers and hope that I’ll be welcome in Heaven once they all learn _who I am_?!”

Castiel suddenly knelt down next to him.  “Sam, should you choose to remain on Earth after Mary and Dean’s passing, you would still have myself and the archangels.”

“Cas, I love you, but I am not operating under any illusions here.  You would go with Dean—as you should.  Raphael will eventually return to Heaven and stay.  Gabriel has the attention span of a gnat—he’ll grow bored within a few years and either take off as the Trickster again or return with Raphael.  I mean, they’re already wrapped up in meetings every other night!”

Castiel’s mouth fell open.  “You…you believe you will be alone once Mary and Dean die?  That Heaven will abandon their newest fledgling on Earth for centuries without a care?”

“Heaven’s never really given a shit about me before, Cas.  And I’m not ‘their newest’ anything—I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”  Just because Chuck had changed him didn’t automatically make Sam part of their family. 

Castiel started to speak, but Dean cut him off.  “This is what’s had you all tore up for the past couple weeks?  You’ve been consuming books at a crazy rate—don’t think I didn’t notice the pile in the library getting smaller and smaller—and you were willing to blow yourself up to be ready for something that _may_ happen years from now.”

“I need to be prepared,” Sam said weakly.  “I can’t rely on our weapons.  I’m too small to properly handle most of them.  An angel blade would be _mine_.  And I don’t know how long I’ll have access to those books—or I didn’t.  They’re gone now.” 

His chest constricted so quickly it made him stagger.  _Oh God, they’re gone.  All I have are my notes about theory—which are useless because I never understood the basic concepts to begin with._   Panic swarmed him at the thought. 

Castiel’s arms wrapped around him, and the pressure and itch that had been building for days slowly eased.  Sam buried his face in the seraph’s neck as the scent of rain washed over him.  “I know this has been hard—that you are struggling.  But do not think for a second that I would abandon you.  An eternity in Heaven with Dean would be Hell for both of us if we knew you were alone.”

Dean snorted.  “I’d _make_ it Hell.”

Sam tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob.  He felt himself lifted into the air as Castiel stood.  “Shh, it will all be okay, Sam.  Let’s get you into bed.  You are exhausted.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Sam mumbled into Castiel’s neck. 

“Cas is right, dude.  Angel or not—you’re gonna make yourself sick if you don’t get some rest.”  Dean’s hands pulled him from Castiel, and Sam tightened his grip on the seraph’s coat.  Someone gently pried his fingers away with a chuckle.  “Let go, Sammy.  Or do you want to move to the big room.  We can totally do that if you want.”

Sam reluctantly released the fabric and allowed himself to be transferred to Dean’s arms.  He saw Mary turn down his blankets and Morpheus jump onto the bed in his small form.  Dean lowered him to the bed and Sam felt his body melt into the mattress.  He was beyond tired.

Mary tucked the blankets around him and Morpheus, then kissed his forehead.  “I love you, baby,” she whispered in his ear.  “It’s going to be okay—you’ll see.  I would storm Heaven from within if I had to.  I would take on Michael himself.  You won’t be alone, I promise.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sam said, blushing. 

Castiel perched on the side of the bed.  “Would you like help getting to sleep?”

Sam considered it for a moment.  Usually, he hated being made to sleep—hated having his mind touched by anything or anyone.  But right now, the prospect of lying in bed for hours with only his thoughts seemed much worse.  What he really wanted was the bliss of nothingness, even if it was temporary.  “Yes, please.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.  “Wow, really?”

“Yeah,” Sam curled onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his ears. 

“Sleep well, Sam.”  Castiel brushed his fingertips across his forehead, and the world faded away.

* * *

Gabriel was the first to escape the meeting as it ended.  He couldn’t wait for Michael to take his soldiers and wipe the British Men of Letters’ headquarters from existence.  Then, he’d have some peace, knowing they’d never touch his flock or anyone else ever again.

He hated meetings, and that had not changed since he’d left Heaven.  They made him edgy enough without the subject being “the worst members of humanity.”  He needed a break before moving on to the next item on his schedule that evening— _interviewing_ the prisoners who’d hurt Sam.

“ **Are you alright, brother?** ” Raphael asked quietly as he approached from behind.

“ **No,** ” Gabriel said.  His shoulders slumped.  Too many things were wrong for him to be alright. 

He couldn’t stop seeing Sam’s face from when he’d been confronted.  Or the way his wings had quivered.  Or the sound of his voice as he’d pleaded with them to not take those damn books. 

“ **Perhaps you should check on him,** ” Raphael suggested, steering them toward Heart Hall.  “ **Castiel informed me that Samuel is sleeping.  Go—remind yourself that he is safe.  It will calm you.  And hopefully keep you from accidentally demolishing our prisons.** ”

“ **And that would be a bad thing?** ”

Raphael scowled at him.  “ **Go.** ”

Gabriel flew into the bunker’s kitchen.  Dean and Mary both jumped in surprise.  Castiel saved their coffees from spilling and tilted his head.  “You are early.  I did not expect you to return for several more hours.”

“Needed a break.”  Gabriel shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. 

“They getting any closer to taking those bastards down?” Dean asked.

“Before the new year, if all goes according to plan,” Gabriel said.  He couldn’t wait—no more worrying, no more waiting, no more meetings.  And hopefully it would give Sam some closure.  The kid deserved it. 

“Good.”  Dean drained his mug. 

“So, how was he after I left?” Gabriel asked.  All three glanced at each other, their faces a mixture of misery and trepidation.  He felt like sprinting to Sam’s room as his worry spiked.  “That bad, huh?”

“We, uh,” Dean cleared his throat, “got to the bottom of some things.  But it’s kind of a long story and Sam should be here for it.”

Gabriel looked to Castiel, who nodded in agreement.  “It is best to wait until morning.”

“I thought I might check in on him.” 

“Cas knocked him out, so you should be good.”  Dean got up and stretched.  “I’m headed to bed, too.  It’s gonna be a rough day.  You might want to reschedule lessons tomorrow.” 

“Right.”  That didn’t bode well, but at least he’d get some answers to the kid’s behavior. 

Gabriel said his goodnights and walked down the hall to Sam’s room.  The boy was curled into a tight ball under his blankets.  Morpheus was snuggled against his head on the pillow.

“Just making sure he’s okay,” Gabriel whispered when the canine opened his eyes. 

He brushed the hair from Sam’s face and smiled as he felt the boy’s grace respond.  _Dad-above, I love this kid._

**_Gabriel,_** Raphael’s voice interrupted his thoughts, **_Michael says he is ready whenever you return._**

**_On my way,_** Gabriel replied.  He pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead.  _See you in the morning,_ he promised silently as he flew back to Heaven 

* * *

_It is colder than usual when Sam drags himself out of bed.  He shivers and pulls on shoes with the toes cut out.  They stopped fitting his feet seven years ago, but there are no stores within walking distance anymore, so he makes due._

_He conjures a small grace-light to illuminate his way to the kitchen.  The silence is only broken by his feet scuffing through the thick layers of dust—he can’t remember what the hum of electricity sounds like.  The generator hasn’t seen fuel in half a century._

_The kitchen is bare—no surprise.  But the plumbing still works and he is grateful the well water never got poisoned during the last war.  He’d almost killed himself guarding it._

_He drinks a glass of icy water.  Hates the way it burns his teeth and belly.  But it’s all he has to sustain him until he can scavenge the woods for birds again._

_A sound startles him and his glass shatters on the floor.  It is a sound he has not heard in a very long time.  The sound of wings._

_He turns quickly, snatching a butcher knife from where he’s taped it below the counter.  The sight of Gabriel makes him freeze.  The archangel looks just as surprised to see him._

_“Sam,” he says, almost like a question, “what are you doing here?”_

_“I live here.”_

_“Still?”  Gabriel’s eyes scan the kitchen, taking in the empty shelves and grime-covered surfaces._

_“Yeah.”  He tapes the knife back into place.  Curses when the tape doesn’t stick anymore.  “Is something happening?”  It’s not the question he wants to ask._

_“Umm, you could say that.  Haven’t you heard over angel radio?”_

_“I learned to tune it out.”  He refuses to admit that the sound of angels hurts too much.  Their voices are a constant reminder of everything he’s lost._

_Gabriel pulls himself up straighter, his face expressionless.  “Well, then I won’t bother you with silly little details about war.  I just came to grab something I’d left behind.”_

_“Oh.”  Sam shuffles awkwardly in place.  “Do you need help finding it?  I’ve moved things around a lot in the…”_

_“Nope.  Already got it when I realized someone was here.” Gabriel shakes his head.  “Damn kid, when did you last eat?”_

_Sam shrugs.  Food isn’t always a priority.  He’s learned to exist on less than what humans need.  Grace doesn’t fill his belly, but it keeps him alive between meals._

_Gabriel sighs in exasperation.  “Didn’t you at least learn to snap up food?  Or did you forget you’re an angel?”  He snaps his fingers and several bags of food appear on the counters._

_Sam’s mouth waters at the sight of bright red apples peeking over the top of one bag.  “Thanks,” he whispers, not bothering to answer the archangel’s questions.  None of the books he’s read help on the food-front.  Angels don’t eat.  He doesn’t think of himself as an angel anymore._

_A hand brushes through his hair, making him jump.  No one touches him.  Not since Dean’s death._

_“Kiddo, what happened to you?” Gabriel asks, almost fondly._

_Sam tries to remember.  There is nothing to remember—just empty spaces of time passing.  People leaving, one-by-one, until all that remains is him._

_“I don’t know,” Sam says._

_“It’s probably best you never came to Heaven.” Gabriel’s eyes glaze over.  “You’d never have survived the invasion.”_

_“Is there anything left?” Sam asks.  He’s gone so long without news—doesn’t even know how many humans are left at this point._

_“No.”  Gabriel turns away, fists clenched.  “I need to go.  I…I’ll try to check on you again.  Soon.  If I can.”_

_Sam wants to stop him—make him stay and fill the emptiness.  Warm grace saturates the room and it stirs something deep inside.  “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, knowing it can’t possibly cover everything he needs to say._

_“I know, kiddo.”  Gabriel pauses at the doorway.  “If you need anything, just pray for me.  I’m always listening.”_

_He flies away without turning around._

_Panic surges in Sam’s chest.  “Gabriel, wait!”   His grace reaches for the archangel, wings flaring, and follows the trail of energy._

_Closing his eyes, Sam pushes himself **between**.  Despair and regret drives him forward.  Why was he so stupid?  He cannot lose the trail—he may not get the chance again.  _

_Everyone else is dead.  Beyond dead.  Where did souls go when they were destroyed?  He needs Gabriel.  Doesn’t want to exist in shadows, alone and locked away in a prison of his own making._

_Agony courses through his grace with every passing second.  He dares not open his eyes—the devastation of the world will only distract.  Only Gabriel matters._

_He flies forever._

_Eternities pass without air or sight or heartbeat._

_He has never flown this long._

_It hurts._

_And then, he’s falling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs and hides*


	10. Their Children’s Hell Will Slowly Go By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are a few emotionally intense moments. One of those includes Sam briefly thinking he's hurt Morpheus--but rest assured, he is proven fine within a line or two!! Just don't want anyone to stumble onto that blindly in case it's a trigger <3<3<3
> 
> SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO MY DISCORD DARLINGS!!!!  
> Y'all have been wonderful and soooo encouraging!  
> I owe you all everything <3

Gabriel landed in Heaven feeling better for having seen Sam.  The kid was the best thing to ever happen to him—the whole flock-and-family-combo felt like a fever dream most days.  They were more than he’d believed possible.

He waved at his siblings and made for the prison without delay.  The cells were quite a distance from Heart Hall and there wasn’t a minute to waste.  He’d already put this meeting off too many times. 

The bright modern office halls changed as he grew closer.  Shiny chrome and fluorescent lights gave way to cobblestone and torches—a jarring transition that spoke of too few workers taking care of too many projects.  The Architects had probably been too busy with repairs to make upgrades a priority.  Or they’d been conscripted into the army.

Four guards stood at attention outside the prison.   One stepped forward and said, “ **Messenger—we have been expecting you.** ”

“ **Yes.  I apologize…if I am late.** ”

“ **We were given no expected time—simply told to grant you access at your convenience.** ”

“ **Oh.  Good.** ”  _Thank you, Michael, for remembering I have a casual relationship with time,_ he sent to his brother.  Michael’s amusement trickled through their bond, giving him strength to continue forward.  “ **I only require one thing—no interruptions.  Understood?** ”

The guard looked to her companions with a frown.  “ **You do not wish for one of us to stay with you?** ”

“ **No,** ” Gabriel grinned.  “ **I wish to be alone with them.** ”

“ **Of course, sir.** ”  The guard nodded and stepped back to her place. 

Gabriel walked up to the doorway and took a deep breath, preparing himself.  _Do not destroy the prison.  Do not destroy the prison OR the prisoners…because once they are destroyed you cannot remake them and try again.  And Michael will not be happy._

He pushed through the doors and entered, forcing himself not to shudder as the “dead-zone” effect immediately fell over him.  The prisons of Heaven were one of the few sections with built-in buffers that silenced angel radio.  No communication through grace could pass through these walls in either direction.  It was why guards always remained posted _outside_ the doors. 

Inside there were two more soldiers.  Gabriel dismissed them, waving off their concerns, and made his way down to the cells.  His grace roiled in anticipation, stirring ancient anger he’d long pushed aside.  _Do not destroy the prison,_ he reminded himself.

The humans sat in separate cells side-by-side, unable to see each other through the stone walls.  The woman looked tired and bored.  But the man eyed Gabriel with a glint of malice and understanding.

“Oh look!  The ArchJoke has finally arrived, Ms Watts!”  Shepard sat forward on his bench, back straight and muscles coiled tight, ready for action.  “Just get back to our solar system, did ya?”

“Aww, an unimaginative nickname.  How quaint.”  Gabriel grinned, feeling _Loki_ rising closer to the surface.  He had many masks, many roles, many parts of himself—and all were demanding justice from these two souls. 

Shepard stood slowly and stretched—a lazy display of arrogance.  “I have to say—all those stories about archangels being Heaven’s greatest weapons seem a bit exaggerated.  I met your Commander.”  He shrugged.  “Honestly, not that impressed.”

“Well, Mickey’s always been a big stickler for rules and regulations.  Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty with filth,” Gabriel said.  He paced slowly in front of their cells, savoring the build-up.

“What, so he sent _you_?” Shepard scoffed. 

“Duh!” Gabriel laughed, barely contained rage storming just below the surface.  “I know, I know, I’m adorable, right?  Tiny vessel, winning smile, jokes a lot.  But here’s the thing—my brothers only know Heaven and Hell.  Mickey commands armies and has no time or patience for these kinds of things.  Raphael, well, he’s a Healer.  He’d rather study you like a science experiment than interrogate you.  And Lucifer would just dust your souls and be done with it.  But me?  I’m different.”

“Yeah, you like to hear yourself talk,” drawled Ms Watt in a weary tone. 

“Oh, I do,” Gabriel agreed.  “I mean, I’m the Messenger, after all.”

“Got any good messages for us then?” Ms Watt asked.

“A few, so listen up.”  Gabriel snapped up a chair, straddled it backwards, and pulled a lollipop from his jacket pocket.  “I’m gonna ask some questions and you’re gonna answer.”

“What happens if we do?  Time off for being a cooperating witness?” Shepard asked, leaning his face against the bars.  “And more importantly—what happens if we don’t give a shit about your questions?”

Gabriel peeled the wrapper off his sucker and stuck it in his mouth, considering his answer.  He remembered Sam’s welts and bruises and nightmares—had personally watched the video of the boy’s torture _twice._  The torches flickered on the wall before he could restrain his temper.

“Let me make something very clear here,” he finally said.  “You two may have trained in interrogation techniques with the best and darkest minds available, but I have had centuries to perfect my methods.  Centuries of practice seeking out the biggest dicks humanity has had to offer.  I’ve done it all a thousand times over.  And you know what?”  He stared into Shepard’s cold blue eyes, no longer smiling.  “I consider every single one of those seconds as rehearsal for this moment.”

Shepard lost his grin.  His soul, a dim little thing, squirmed inside his chest.  Even Ms Watt seemed to lose her air of boredom and sat up straighter.

“Once I have my answers—and you bet your ass I’m gonna get every bit of information I want if I have to strip it from your brains with my own sticky fingers—once I’m done and we’ve annihilated your creepy club in Britain, you and all your little friends get a first-class ticket to your own special Hell.”

“Hate to break it to ya mate, but you’re gonna need more cells if you plan on fillin’ this place with our colleagues.”  Shepard looked around Heaven’s prison, his face pale and sweating. 

“Oh no,” Gabriel scoffed.  “We would never sully even our prison with your souls for longer than necessary.  I meant _Hell_.  Downstairs—way down.  Think ‘basement level.’  And you are in a whole lotta not-luck, because the King of Hell—he’s besties with the Winchesters.  He’s preparing a special eternity just for you and your friends.”  He crossed an arm over the back of the chair and leaned forward.  “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Sam was falling.  The silence of _between_ lifted with a rush of air and sound as gravity yanked him back toward the world.  He only had time to gasp in a breath, filling his lungs after an eternity of none, before his descent came to a sudden stop. 

He landed hard, slamming face-down into a stone floor.  He barely noticed the jarring pain that shot through his hands and bones upon impact or how his new-found breath left him.  All that existed was the agony of his grace and wings. 

Reality and dreams blurred together, indistinguishable to a mind and body in distress.  Hunter-instincts told him to move—assess the situation.  This amount of pain always meant danger.

Sam cracked open one eye and immediately closed it when pure white seared his vision.  Rough stone scraped against his fingertips but at least he could move his arms.  His legs were another story—they were bound in thick cloth that he couldn’t shake. 

Sounds came in waves, slowly registering until they crashed over him in a deafening roar.  He covered his ears with bloody palms but it did nothing to block the rising noise.  Too many voices screamed through his mind to make out any words. 

He couldn’t think through the noise and pain bombarding him.  There was a vague sense that he’d been looking for someone.  Or had he argued with them? 

Something wet touched his face and Sam flinched.  It returned, working across his cheeks and forehead—a tongue lapping at his tears.  He shuddered, whimpering as he pushed it away.

Memories flashed unbidden.  A white dog with blue eyes who liked to lick his face.  Another set of blue eyes, paler and colder, belonging to a man’s face.  He also had a tongue that liked to lick Sam’s face—a forked tongue that froze his tears, turning them to ice against his skin. 

But this tongue was tiny and warm.  It tickled his eyelids, wiping tears away before they could fall.  It was accompanied by something soft that brushed across his brow.  _Feathers?  No—fur._

He forced one of his eyes open, squinting at the kaleidoscope of light and colors.  A small white face pushed closer, filling his vision.  The dog stared back with frantic blue eyes, mouth opening to bark. 

Sam heard nothing over the thunderous chorus of voices, but he remembered a name.  _Morpheus!_   The sight of the canine brought back other memories—the book, the fight, the nightmare.  But he was awake now. 

Awake, and definitely not in the bunker. 

“Morpheus?  What’s happening?”  He felt his own words more than he heard them.

A hand touched Sam’s temple, pouring unfamiliar grace over him.  It coated his face and moved down his neck to spread across his chest.  His own grace shrank away from the stranger, recoiling into a ball that left him shaking and nauseous.

“ **No!** ” Sam lashed out, pushing the hand away as hard as he could.

Another hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back.  Nuriel looked down at him, black curls forming a halo around her frowning face.  Her mouth moved like she was speaking.

Alarm shot through Sam.  Why was Nuriel here?  His list of worst case scenarios started getting check marks near the top.

Her grace continued to wrap around him, making his skin tingle like when Raphael had healed his burns.  The pain and noise dimmed to tolerable levels—enough that he could think and move without screaming. 

“ **No!  No touch!** ” he ground out, clawing at her arms to dislodge them.  They held tighter, and Nuriel shook her head sending her curls flying back and forth.  He kicked his legs harder against the bindings but they only tangled worse. 

Sariel joined Nuriel above him, her stoic face revealing nothing about their motives.  The guard leader knelt by his feet, seizing his ankle before he could land a kick to her face.  She said something and a hint of exasperation flickered in her eyes.

Sam screamed as they held him down.  “ ** _GABRIEL!_** ” he cried with his voice and mind, hoping to reach the archangel either through prayer or angel radio.  “ ** _Gabriel!  Raphael!  Castiel!  Help me—angels take me!_** _”_  Fueled by fear, his grace surged to the surface.  Lightning arced from his skin, forcing the angels to stagger back in shock.

He rolled away from them, hoping to gain some distance, and the cloth binding fell away from his legs.  Scrambling to his knees, he saw what had been wrapped around his lower torso—the blanket and sheet from his bed.  He paused, suddenly unsure of his situation.  But there was no time to speculate once he saw his surroundings.

They were in a massive underground cave.  Ancient pillars hewn from rock stretched toward a ceiling too high to see. There was no obvious light source, yet everything seemed too bright—the walls themselves were glowing. 

But it was the sea of faces surrounding them that made Sam’s heart hammer against his chest.  Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were gathered in the cavern.  Most wore the familiar grey suits but he’d recognize them as angels regardless of their clothing.  Grace-lit wings rose from every angel’s back, casting prisms of color that shimmered sunshine on water across every surface. 

His vision swam as memories merged with the present.  Only one place had held this amount of grace in Sam’s experience.  Stone changed to steel and the temperature plunged to freezing.  Lucifer’s laughter echoed above the cacophony of voices.  His soul shuddered and screamed— _Run!  Hide!_

Tiny feet pawed at his hand on the floor but he didn’t dare look away from the crowd.  They were growing restless, whispering to each other and shifting closer.  Then, he saw a burst of white fur at his side as Morpheus shifted to his large form.  Several angels started moving forward, wings flared in alarm and blades dropping into their hands. 

“ **No!** ”  Sam forced himself to his feet, grabbing handfuls of fur to remain steady.  His grace rose within him again, crackling along his skin.  He flung a hand out, prepared to defend them both against an attack.  He felt a growl vibrate through Morpheus’ body.

Sariel stepped in front of them, facing the crowd.  Her wings extended outward like a curtain of flames.  The angels fell back several feet.

A quick glance around the cavern revealed several doorways.  The closest was only about thirty yards behind them.  He saw Nuriel move toward them and bolted.

Darting through the crowd, he used his size to his advantage.  Spots of color danced in front of his eyes and the roar of voices crescendoed.  He stumbled, disoriented from the pain splitting his head.  Hands grabbed at him but quickly fell away as his grace turned storm-strong, rolling through him like a tempest and striking down anything that stood in his path.  

_Gabriel, I don’t know where we are but Morpheus is with me.  I can’t hear him anymore—I can’t hear anything.  There’s too much noise.  There are so many angels here…and grace!_

Sam desperately hoped the other angels couldn’t intercept his prayers.  Then, his thoughts turned to his family and a new fear surfaced.  What if there had been an attack on the bunker? 

_Castiel, the bunker’s been compromised!  I don’t know where I am, but two of the guard were here when I woke up surrounded by angels.  Don’t trust Zadkiel if he’s there!  Please, keep Mom and Dean safe.  And keep yourself safe, too!_

The door opened just before he could reach it and Sam slammed into the figure that stepped through.  A gentle hand steadied him.  Familiar grace flowed over him—a blast of pure heat that smelled of wood smoke.  It melted the icy echoes of the Cage, replacing them with memories of fire. 

Sam forced himself to look up, knowing who he’d see.

Michael smiled gently from behind the face of a young John Winchester.  His head tilted and his mouth moved.  Sam stared back, still unable to hear.  Even the noise of the angels was quickly drowned out by his own blood rushing through his ears.

Wrenching himself out of Michael’s grasp, Sam stumbled backwards several steps until he ran into a wall of fur.  Leaning into Morpheus, he watched as Michael raised a hand.  The air thrummed with energy.

 ** _Hush, my angels.  Your noise is too much for sensitive young ears._** His words were met with swift silence as the Host listened to their leader.  **_Thank you.  Until further notice, I am ordering radio silence.  Emergency use only._**

Sam pressed harder against Morpheus, legs shaking from the effort of standing.  Michael’s words were the first clear thing he’d understood since waking—and almost the last voice he wanted to hear.  Why was the archangel here in some cave?

Michael crouched down.  “ **You are safe, child.  No one will hurt you here.** ”

Empty promises did nothing to reassure him.  “ **Why here?** ”

Michael’s head tilted and he frowned in apparent confusion.  “ **Why are you here?** ” 

Sam knew why _he_ was there—because the angels had brought him!  He glared at the archangel’s mockery.  “ **Why _you_ here?**   **You take me and—** ”

Michael raised his hand again and Sam flinched, bracing for a blow.  He heard gasps from the crowd.  Morpheus growled.

“I apologize,” Michael said softly as he lowered his hand.  “Your guardian informs me that he does not understand Enochian.  And he has been unable to communicate to you through his usual methods.”

“Oh, and you volunteer to act as translator?  No, thanks.”  Sam ignored the whispers from the angels.

“I realize you have little reason to trust me, Sam—”

“No,” Sam cut him off, “I have _no_ reason to trust you.”

Michael nodded.  “And what can I do to gain your trust?”

“Let me go home.”

“We did not bring you here.”

Sam stared at him, incredulous of the blatant lie.  “Well, Morpheus didn’t bring me!”

Nuriel stepped forward.  “Sam, you flew here yourself.”

“No, I didn’t,” he scoffed, panic fluttering in his stomach, “I can barely manage a few feet across the yard!  I didn’t fly myself into the…the underground lair of some angel cult!”

“You think…” Michael looked like he might laugh but thought better of it.  “You are not underground—this is Heart Hall.  You are in Heaven, Sam.”

“No.”  Sam shook his head, not caring that it made the pain spike inside his skull.  “I can’t be in Heaven.  I don’t even know where it is!  I don’t…” 

He couldn’t breathe—was there even air in Heaven?  The angels all stared at him, their wings twitching in distress.  Or was it disgust?  Could all angels see his scraps of mutilated soul shoved inside their Father’s grace? 

“Sam, you need to calm down,” Nuriel said, edging closer with her hands held out.  It was meant to be a placating gesture, but it made Sam burrow as close to Morpheus as possible.  “Raphael is on his way.”

“You’re lying!” Sam cried, tears stinging his eyes.  He heard no reassuring rumble from the Healer or Gabriel’s lighter lilting tone.  His mind held only static and silence since Michael had hushed the crowd.  **_Raphael!  Gabriel!!_**

The crowd gasped, many cringing in pain as Sam called as loud as he could for the archangels.  Even Michael winced.  Sam considered it a small victory.

Nuriel knelt down only a few feet away, keeping her hands visible and steady.  “I’m not lying.  You can’t hear him or Morpheus because your grace is overwhelmed.  You did a lot of damage when you flew here, and fledglings aren’t meant to be exposed to this part of Heaven without proper protection.  We need to get you to an area that—”

“No!  I want to go home!”  He didn’t want to be shuffled around Heaven.

“I can’t take you home until—”

If they wouldn’t take him home, then he’d go himself.  Sam closed his eyes, trying to focus on Castiel’s grace.  _Warm rain, petrichor, soft and safe, blue…_   His wings shuddered painfully as they unfurled.

“ **No!** ” Nuriel yelled.

Several hands seized him at once.  Sam screamed, twisting in their grasp, but there was nowhere to go.  They held him still as someone folded his wings together.  Hot grace wrapped around the aching appendages, forming tight bands that forced his wings to remain closed. 

Sam flew into a frenzy, kicking and clawing anyone he could reach.  His grace raged with him.  He let loose a bellowing cry and unleashed the storm he’d worked so hard to contain in the past month.  Lightning struck those who held him—a blast that sent them flying black several feet. 

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find Michael laying on the ground.  The archangel looked shaken.  Several other angels were also down, though most seemed to be recovering.  But one figure remained still.

“No! No, no, no!” Sam ran to Morpheus, not caring if the angels decided to smite him. 

Falling to his knees next to the canine, he stared in helpless despair.  The massive chest slowly expanded.  Sam gave a sob and laid himself across the canine, trying to listen for a heartbeat.  It was muffled by fur, but he heard it—solid and strong.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  Please wake up.” 

Sam shook the canine, needing him to be more okay than just a heartbeat and breath.  Tears blurred his eyes and tightened his throat, but he kept up his pleas.  He didn’t see the angel that knelt next to them until a hand reached out to brush the fur from Morpheus’ eyes. 

“Don’t touch him!”  Sam snarled, launching himself at the angel. 

The angel’s vessel was massive—a tall, burly biker covered in leather and tattoos.  He laughed as he caught Sam easily and held him to his chest.  “Oh, you’re a feisty one!  I bet you’ve been giving Nuri a run for her money.  Now, settle down, little guy, before you hurt yourself.”

Sam fought the arms that kept him pinned but it was useless.  The vessel alone would have been strong enough to hold him without angelic grace.  _This is why I needed a blade,_ Sam thought as he kicked feebly. 

That thought stuck in his head.  He could try to manifest a blade again.  Even if he failed at procuring a weapon, he’d still do quite a bit of damage. 

He concentrated on pooling his grace in his palms, focusing on the shape and feel of the blade.  _I need this,_ he told his grace.  The skin of his palms sizzled, blistering from the electrical energy as it accumulated. 

Something cold settled in his right hand.  Small and smooth, it hummed with his own grace.  Sam closed his fingers around it, nearly crying with relief. 

His left hand burned as grace continued amassing without form.  Sam slammed his palm against the angel’s ribs and _pushed._   The angel grunted and released him, staggering back a few steps.  

“Oh, the new baby’s got spirit!” the angel laughed, holding his side. 

“I am _not_ a baby!” Sam said through gritted teeth.  He swung his right hand, landing a blow on the angel’s left arm. 

A thin line of blood appeared across the tattoo of a heart with the initials _B.A.C.A_. inside.  Blue grace slowly seeped out like ethereal gas, and several angels cried out in alarm.  The biker angel just held out a hand to calm the others, and then clasped it over the wound. 

“Just a scratch!  No need to get your panties in a twist.” 

“Barachiel!” Nuriel scolded from behind Sam.  “You are supposed to be helping!”

“I am helping!” Barachiel said with a wink.  “I kept him occupied while you healed his dog-friend.”

Sam whirled around to see Morpheus rising to his feet.  He stepped forward, intending to run to him, but a hand grabbed his wrist.  “Let me go!”

“Hold on.  No running with dangerous sharp things,” Barachiel said.  “Nuriel—a little help?”

Sam tried to grab the blade with his other hand, but Nuriel got to him first.  “No!  It’s mine!”

“Samuel!” Nuriel snapped.  “Stop this right now.  I know you are scared and angry, but this is _not_ the answer.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks at the rebuke.  His body and grace ached as he sagged in their grip.  All he wanted was to check Morpheus and go home—he never asked to come to Heaven!

A commotion stirred in the crowed behind them.  Then, someone plucked the blade from his hand.  “Less than an hour in Heaven, and you’ve already stabbed someone.  Your brother will be proud,” said a voice in a well-known rumble.

* * *

Raphael had gone into his office after the meeting.  Nuriel’s list of recommended reading materials for Samuel was extensive but well thought-out.  He’d gathered several from his own collection and had been planning to stop by the old nursery and library.

Then, the alarms sounded. 

Before he could even ask Michael to report, the Host erupted in a cascade of cries.   ** _A fledgling… in Heart Hall… Shapeshifter… Father help him… in a vessel…_**

Books tumbled from his arms as he raced toward the commotion.   ** _Michael, I am coming.  What is happening?_** he asked, skirting around a group of stunned seraphs in the hall. Archangels were not often seen running through Heaven.

 ** _Samuel just landed in Heart Hall.  I am on my way there now,_** Michael replied.

Raphael muttered a rare curse and ran faster.  There was no telling what state the boy would be in if he’d flown himself.  He required daily healing from their practice sessions in the yard.  Then, another voice rose louder than all the others, sounding far too young and terrified.

**_GABRIEL!  Gabriel!  Raphael!  Castiel!  Help me—angels take me!_ **

He staggered against the wall from the sheer volume and desperation pouring off Samuel.  It reverberated throughout Heaven as the Host felt and heard him too.  He steadied himself and ran faster.

 ** _I am coming, Samuel!  Do not fear—you will be fine!_ ** he said.  But there was no reply.  He mentally tallied the likely side effects a fledgling might experience after an Earth-to-Heaven flight.  The power in Heart Hall alone would be enough to short circuit his ability to hear and function. 

Raphael heard the boy’s frantic prayers to Gabriel and Castiel, trying to convey his situation and warn his family.  It was heartbreaking to witness while being powerless to respond.  Michael’s call for silence from the Host was a welcome relief even as he felt Samuel’s fear of the Commander’s presence. 

Then, he realized Gabriel’s voice was absent.  _Father help us—Gabriel is in the prisons!_   One of the few dead-zones within Heaven where angel-radio didn’t reach.  A practical necessity for when angels were the ones kept within the cells, but at the moment it was just another barrier. 

 ** _Seraphs stationed near the prisons—get Gabriel to Heart Hall.  Immediately!_** Raphael ordered, nearly colliding with another cluster of angels as he turned a corner. 

He felt a shockwave through his connection to Michael and knew something had happened.  **_I had to bind his wings,_** came the Commander’s sheepish reply.  **_He was attempting to fly himself home.  How soon will you—Oh Father!_**

 ** _What?!  What is happening?_** Raphael asked, pushing seraphs out of the way as he drew closer to Heart Hall. 

 ** _His canine is unconscious.  Oh!!  How in the… did you know… Saints and Sinners, I am not going to survive this fledgling!!_ **  The Commander was clearly rattled.  **_The boy made an angel blade, Raphael!_**

 ** _I am here,_** Raphael assured him, pushing his way through the crowd.  He heard Barachiel call for Nuriel’s assistance, quickly followed by Samuel’s protest and Nuriel scolding

The angels parted before him, revealing the most pitiful sight.  Samuel stood with each hand held by a Caretaker.  His wings trembled against their bindings. 

Raphael took a calming breath and secured the tiniest angel blade from even tinier fingers.  “Less than an hour in Heaven, and you’ve already stabbed someone.  Your brother will be proud.” 

Stepping around Nuriel, he knelt down in front of the boy.  A quick nod to the seraphs and they released their hold.  He caught Samuel under the arms before he collapsed.

“Raphael?”  Samuel whispered in disbelief. 

“ **Peace, child.  You are safe.** ”  Raphael sat back on his heels, gathering the boy to his chest.  He wrapped a protective layer of energy around them, buffering the young grace from the rest of Heaven.  Silent tears soaked through his tunic and he held him closer.  “ **Shh, I am here and Gabriel is on his way.** ”

He glanced at Michael who stood off to the side, not daring to get too close.  The Commander nodded at the unspoken question.  **_I will check with my guards closest to the prison.  They should have informed Gabriel by now.  I am surprised we have not heard—_**

 ** _Raphael, what the Hell is happening?!_** As though summoned, Gabriel’s voice cut through their silent conversation.  **_Samuel is here—in Heaven?  What the fuck—MOVE, SERAPHS, OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER!!  Someone had better start explaining!!_**

 ** _Ahh, I see they found you._  **Michael smiled fondly.  **_I shall explain on a private channel, so your screaming does not distract Raphael._**

Raphael mouthed a grateful _thank you_ and focused back on the child.  “Let me look at you,” he said, shifting Samuel until his tear-stained face was visible.  “My goodness.  You _are_ a mess.  Burned, bloody, and barefoot—we really need to stop meeting this way.”

Samuel looked down at his feet, wiggling his dirty toes and mumbling, “I was asleep and woke up here with—” His whole body tensed, eyes wide in panic as he twisted around.  “Morpheus!  Oh God, Morpheus, are you okay?”

Raphael kept a firm grip on the squirming body.  Experience with Gabriel’s sudden shifts in attention as a fledgling had come in handy through the ages.  “He is fine, Samuel.  See?  Here he comes now.”

The canine padded warily past the seraphs in the crowd.  Most were watching the scene in stunned silence, but many were in obvious distress over seeing their youngest sibling’s anguish.  Michael was not going to have an easy time explaining this to them. 

 _He cannot hear me,_ Morpheus said sadly as he finally reached them.  Raphael nodded.

“Morpheus!” Samuel anxiously brushed the fur around the canine’s face with the back of his hands.  His fingers were curled into loose fists to protect the angry burns.  “I’m so, so sorry.  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  Are you okay?  Did…did they heal you?  Should Raphael look you over?  I think Raphael should look you over.  Raphael, I-I lost control—well, I didn’t lose control, I did it on purpose, but I wasn’t thinking and I caught Morpheus in the blast and he got knocked unconscious and mmph…”

Morpheus stopped Samuel mid-word with a well-placed lick across his face.  _Tell him I am fine and to quit worrying about me when he’s the one in need of healing._   He continued to wash the tears and sweat and dirt from the boy’s skin, moving across his cheeks and down to his neck. 

Raphael gently tugged on Samuel’s hands.  “Morpheus says he is fine and that I need to heal you instead.” 

“No, m’fine,” Samuel tried to speak through pursed lips.

“You are decidedly _not_ _fine_.  And I am going to ban that word from your vocabulary if you insist on using it incorrectly.”  He looked at the burns—they were worse than the last time the boy had attempted to summon a blade.  In fact, between the flying and the fighting, Samuel was in need of quite a bit of healing. 

“How is he?” Michael asked quietly, standing a few yards away. 

Samuel’s head jerked up at the question.  The sight of the Commander made him hunch his shoulders as his breathing grew faster and shallower.  His wings flattened protectively against his back as best they could within the binding.

Raphael cupped his face, forcing the boy to look at him.  He smiled when hazel eyes lost their glassiness and focused.  “I am right here and you are safe,” he whispered.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as seraphs whispered to one another.  Samuel’s cheeks flushed bright red when he finally seemed to realize that they had an audience.  A much larger audience than just one archangel and a couple Caretakers.

“I think he is going to make it,” Raphael answered Michael with mock-seriousness.  “Of course, no guarantees once Gabriel arrives.  He may smother him in his enthusiasm.”

“Is…is Gabriel coming?” the boy asked, dropping his gaze to study the burns. 

Raphael saw the young grace churn despondently and frowned.  Did Samuel think Gabriel _wouldn’t_ come?  Or was he just nervous? 

“He is on his way now, Sam,” Michael answered.  “He has probably sent several seraphs to the healers in his haste to get to you.”

 ** _Raphael, he needs to be fully swaddled and moved as soon as possible._**   Nuriel looked between him and Samuel pointedly, eyes bright with impatience. 

He understood her desire for swift action, but she had never dealt with Samuel Winchester in a situation like this.  Rushing would only result in resistance from the stubborn boy.  And that was something he wished to avoid.

 ** _Gabriel, how far away are you?_** Raphael asked, trying to get a gauge on time.

**_Almost there!  Dad can go damn Himself for giving me back this vessel and its short legs!_ **

“Let’s see what I can do about making you more comfortable until he gets here.  Lean forward against me, okay?  There we go.”  Raphael settled Samuel against his chest again, running his hand through the sweaty curls.  “I’m going to take the binding off your wings.  You promise not to take off on me, right?”

“Promise,” Samuel muttered into his tunic.

He moved his hand over Michael’s binding, dissolving it with little effort.  He ran light fingers through the ragged wings.  All the pathways they’d built over the last couple weeks were tattered. 

Samuel hissed, pressing his face harder against Raphael’s collar bone.  “Definitely not going anywhere,” he tried to laugh through his tears.

“I know, I know—it hurts, but it should feel better soon.”  Raphael did what he could for the moment, coating the frayed pathways with healing grace.  He watched the light numbing take effect—Samuel gave a sigh as both his body and grace relaxed.  “There we go.  You just rest.  I will do more after Gabriel joins us.” 

Sariel approached them with a pile of bedding.  “Here,” she said gruffly, thrusting the blanket and sheets toward him.  “These came with him.  He…looked cold earlier.”

Raphael smiled and took them with one hand, keeping the other around Samuel.  “Thank you, Sariel.  That is very considerate of you.”

“ **Where is he!?** Move, move, _MOVE_ , all of you—make like the Red Sea and get the fuck outta my way!Sammy, I’m here!!”  Gabriel’s voice echoed around the Hall as he plowed his way into the far-side of the crowd. 

Samuel stirred at the commotion, pushing himself upright.  They watched as the archangel blew past all the seraphs, only knocking over a few who were too stunned to move.  He finally burst into view, looking as disheveled as the boy he was trying to reach. 

“Gabriel,” Raphael sighed, shaking his head.

The Messenger’s head whipped around at his name.  His gold eyes went wide as he took in the sight of them all on the floor and sprinted toward them.  “Oh, for Father’s sake!” he blustered, falling to his knees at their side.   “I can’t believe you’re here.  Look at you—in Heaven!  Oh Jesus, _look at you!_  What happened?  You don’t even have any shoes…”

Samuel’s breath hitched as Gabriel reached shaky hands out to trace the fresh tear tracks.  “Sorry,” he said, sniffing loudly. 

“No, no—none of that.  I—Raphael, is he okay?  What are we looking at?”  Gabriel asked.  His hands moved over the boy, touching his hair and face and arms, just to reassure himself that he was safe.  Samuel tentatively reached back, playing with a button on the archangel’s shirt.

Raphael smiled fondly at them both.  “We are looking at a very tired fledgling who will need a good healing session before we return to Earth.”

“No!  I want to go home!” Samuel protested.

“He has scrapes and burns to his hands…”

“What?!” Gabriel cut him off.  He took the boy’s hands and turned them over for inspection.  “Sam…did you try to manifest a blade again?”

“He tried, succeeded, and managed to stab Barachiel before I got here.”  Raphael wondered if anyone was going to let him finish a sentence.  “He also completely destroyed his wings’ pathways in flying here.  It will take us days to rebuild, so no flying lessons for the next week or two.”

“Forget flying—I’m not letting you walk anywhere for the next decade.  Come here.” Gabriel scooped him out of Raphael’s arms, careful not to touch his wings.  Standing up, he tucked the mess of curls under his chin.  “Oh, kiddo.  I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—and that I didn’t get here sooner.  I should never have left.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Samuel insisted.  “I-I shouldn’t have…”

“Hush, I’m not done.”

Raphael got to his feet and grabbed the blankets.  He worried that Gabriel might overwhelm Samuel’s emotional state with his fretting.  A hand on his arm stopped him from moving toward them. 

Nuriel shook her head slightly.  **_Let him fuss—it is good for them both._**

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.  **_I thought Caretakers advocated for calm when dealing with distraught fledglings._**

 ** _We advocate for honesty,_** she corrected. 

**_I do not understand._ **

Nuriel’s gaze followed Gabriel as he paced, murmuring apologies and promises into Samuel’s ear.  **_You have a natural tranquility, Healer.  You are as steady and solid as a mountain.  Samuel expects that from you.  Now, imagine if Gabriel had walked calmly into this Hall—composed, relaxed, unhurried._**

Raphael shuddered at the image and understood her point.  **_He would seem angry.  Or worse, cold and indifferent._**

 ** _Exactly,_** she said with a smile.  **_Honesty is the best practice.  Samuel needs to know that Gabriel is upset—that he is affected by what has happened._**

 ** _You have missed being a Caretaker,_** Raphael observed. 

 ** _With every fiber of my being.  It is who I am._** Nuriel looked at Barachiel.  The seraph stared at the boy with eyes full of tears and wonder.  **_We never stopped being Caretakers just because there were no more fledglings.  Just as parents do not abandon their role when their child becomes an adult._**

* * *

Gabriel clung to the boy as he paced.  He couldn’t stop moving—couldn’t stop babbling.  Nervous energy twisted through his vessel and grace, and he feared it would tear him apart if he stopped.

He’d been shaking since guards burst into the prison and informed him of the situation.  _Note to self—apologize to those guards.  Maybe a basket of candy and flowers.  And a vacation._   He’d not been kind to them for interrupting his interrogation after specifically telling them to stay out.

“Gabriel?”  Raphael stood a few feet away like he didn’t want to get too close.  He held out a blanket that looked suspiciously like one from the bunker. 

“Yeah?”  He took the blanket and wrapped it around Sam, draping it over the top of his head to block out the staring faces of strangers.  The kid relaxed into him more.

“We need to go somewhere more conducive to healing.”

“Like the infirmary?”  Gabriel made a face at the thought of taking Sam to the sterile rooms where Heaven’s healers treated injured angels.

“I was thinking of the Garden, actually.”

“Oh.”  He brightened at that.  “That’s perfect.  Good idea, Raph.”

The Healer gave him a wry smile.  “I do get them on occasion.”

“Every couple centuries or so,” Gabriel teased, ducking away when his brother tossed a sheet at him.  “Okay, let’s move, folks.  The sooner we get this kid healed, the sooner we can get him home.  Morpheus—shift it and you can catch a ride.”

Morpheus’ ears perked up.  He gave a full-body shake and shrank, then sprinted at the archangel.  Gabriel snatched him up and tucked him into the blanket.  Sam crushed the canine to him. 

“Barachiel,” Raphael called, gesturing the Caretaker toward them, “you should join us.  We need to get that wound looked at.”

Gabriel looked at the grinning seraph.  “Barachiel!  Did I dream Raphael telling me that you got stabbed?”

“Nope!” Barachiel walked alongside Nuriel, keeping his hand clamped tightly over his upper arm.  “Your little one’s a firecracker.  He even managed to throw the Commander a couple yards.  Never seen such determination in a fledgling before!”

“Yes,” Raphael said dryly, “you learn to get used to it around this one.”

“Sammy!  Of all the angels, you stabbed Barry?  He’s one of the cool ones!” Gabriel playfully scolded as they walked out of Heart Hall.  He heard the seraphs in the crowd rush at Michael with questions and stifled the urge to laugh—the poor Commander was not going to have an easy time explaining Sam to them.

“Sorry,” came the muffled reply from under the blanket. 

“Are you kidding?” Barachiel scoffed.  “I’ll still be telling stories about this when I’m in the Empty!  Healer, can you make sure it leaves a scar?  I’m gonna want proof.”

Raphael just gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded.

Gabriel adjusted Sam so the kid’s head rested higher on his shoulder.  “I think you’ve made a friend,” he whispered.

“Dean stabbed Cas when they first met,” Sam huffed quietly, “and staked you.  Maybe it’s a sign?”

Barachiel’s eyes went wide in recognition of the names.  Gabriel knew he’d figured out Sam’s identity.  He would have laughed if it weren’t for the spike in panic racing through him. 

“Let me see that arm.  You’re not holding enough pressure,” Nuriel intervened before the seraph could say anything.  She pulled him to the back so they trailed behind the others while she answered his questions away from sensitive ears.

“What—stabbing is how you boys mark your territory?”  Gabriel moved alongside Raphael as they continued to make their way to the Garden.   He made sure the blanket remained high enough that Sam didn’t see the others fall back. 

“It’s more Dean’s thing.  But he’ll be happy to know I’ve picked up one of his habits.”  Sam yawned. 

Gabriel felt little fingers picking at his jacket collar.  He rubbed the back of the boy’s head though the blanket.  “Rest up, kiddo.  We’ve got a little walk till we get to the Garden.”

“I wonder if it looks the same…” Sam mumbled.

“You’ve seen it?” Gabriel asked, startled. 

“When Dean and I were shot by hunters during the Apocalypse.  Cas told us about the Axis Mundi and we met Joshua.  He was nice.”  The kid’s voice was soft, but they could hear the ache left by the memory. 

“Well, it will probably look pretty different now that you’re an angel.  Joshua is still there.  I think you’ll like it.”  Gabriel wanted to show Sam a part of Heaven’s beauty.  Heart Hall was amazing even in its crumbling state—but part of its glory was in knowing its history. 

The Garden was pure splendor.  It was the seed of creation—the center of Heaven.  A perfect place for healing and renewal. 

They walked in silence after that.  Nuriel and Barachiel rejoined them after a while.  The biker angel made sure to meet Gabriel’s eye and gave a serious nod. 

**_The boy and his secret are safe with me.  His identity changes nothing—he is still a child of Heaven and in need of nurturing by all grace-beings.  The fact that he is a Winchester only means he will need even more support.  And so will you, Messenger._ **

Gabriel gave a wobbly smile.  **_Thank you, Barachiel.  You are right—we will need all those things and more.  He definitely needs more angels on his side._**

 ** _Well, he has me!_** Barachiel grinned.  **_And I like him._**

**_Give him a chance to settle and realize that not all angels will want to kill him on-sight, and I think you two will be thick as thieves._ **

The seraph’s expression turned somber.  **_His reactions in the Hall make a lot more sense now.  I had thought he was just a wild thing—a little bit feral, a little bit boisterous, and a lot scared.  I hope I did not frighten him too bad._**

Gabriel shook his head.  **_Not this kid.  He has a lot of scars and traumas, but he rarely holds grudges.  Even when he should._**

 ** _Be kind to yourself, brother,_** Raphael interjected.  **_We have all made mistakes and fallen short of perfection.  It is the lesson we learn from those mistakes and our actions afterwards that truly define us._**

“Oh, look—we’re here!” Gabriel said a little too loud, ignoring Raphael’s eye-roll and sigh. 

The Garden was as resplendent as he remembered.  Lush green grass formed a thick, soft carpet between the trees and flowers that blossomed with every color.  The air smelled like honeysuckle and rose and lemon balm, all drifting on a light breeze that carried clouds of butterflies.  It was Gabriel’s favorite place in the universe.

There were several clusters of angels already there—mostly Healers working to restore wings.  A few, however, were there for the simple joy of grooming each other.  Their voices were lifted in songs that Gabriel had not heard since the dawn of humanity.

Joshua saw them enter and strolled over to greet them.  “ **Gabriel, I had wondered when I might see you again.  And what do you have bundled under a blanket?  I trust you are not sneaking any creatures into my Garden again.** ”  His eyes danced with delight and knowing. 

Gabriel felt Sam tense up at the new voice.  He slipped his hand under the blanket to run fingers through the kid’s hair, trying to silently reassure him.  “That was one time, Joshua!”

“Three times—that I know about,” Joshua corrected him, switching to English. 

“Well, I promise there’s only two critters this time.  One very tired fledgling in desperate need of a peaceful place and his canine companion.  Kid did some damage to himself when he flew up here and Raphael’s gotta look him over before we can take him home.”

“Still not a kid,” Sam grumbled under his breath, but Gabriel heard him.

“Listen, when you’re one of the top ten oldest things in the universe, everyone’s a kid.”  Gabriel lightly flicked his nose and withdrew his hand before Sam could retaliate.

Joshua chuckled.  “Come.  Let’s get you settled.  I have just the place.” 

The Keeper led them on a path past the old oak.  The other angels all turned to watch their progression but no one approached.  They crossed a small creek surrounded by tall, thick vegetation which swayed out of the angels’ way.  Gabriel knew immediately where they were going.

The weeping willow had been _his_ favorite place as a fledgling.  Her branches twisted outward, carrying curtains of leaves that spilled toward the ground like braids.  She kept the brightness at bay and created a calm sanctuary beneath her boughs. 

“Do you mind if I steal Nuriel away?” Barachiel asked before they went under the willow.  “It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to catch up.”

“Have one of the healers look at that wound,” Raphael ordered, side-eyeing the seraph.  “I will know if you do not.”

Barachiel grinned.  “I wouldn’t dream of defying you—I remember your lectures!”

“Be gone with both of you!”  Raphael growled playfully.  “And get yourselves groomed while you are at it!  Your wings are disgraceful!”

Gabriel snorted, watching the two Caretakers scamper off like overgrown children.  _This_ is what Heaven was supposed to be—how it _had_ been so long ago.  He couldn’t believe he was seeing those days return.

He ducked through the leaves into the familiar refuge.  The shaded shelter smelled like rich earth and water.  Thick moss grew at the base of the willow, providing a perfect cushion for Gabriel to plop down on.  “Alright, Sam-a-lam.  You ready to emerge?” 

Sam grunted and reluctantly allowed the blanket to be pulled away.  He blinked, looking around slowly.  Then, he blinked again and sat up.  “Whoa.” 

Morpheus rolled off their laps and sprawled in the grass.  Butterflies danced around the canine, curious of the new creature in their midst.  He sniffed them but made no move to interact with the fragile flyers. 

_I like this place, Gabrieloki.  It feels similar to my Mother’s realm—but even older._

“It should feel older, Morpheus.  These are the seeds of creation—the first plants.  Life was started here before the Earth was formed.  Grace sustains the Garden but doesn’t form it like the rest of Heaven.  These trees and flowers are not a manifestation.”  Gabriel leaned back against the willow and sighed.  _Hello, old friend._

She reached back, tickling his mind with tendrils of energy.  _You have returned to me._

 _Always.  And I brought someone who needs your comfort._   Gabriel looked down at the boy in his lap.  Sam’s eyes were roaming over everything around them, trying to take it all in at once.  _I’ll introduce you when he’s feeling better.  I don’t think he can hear anyone right now._

_Did the little bird fall from his nest?_

Gabriel blinked back tears.  _He did, actually.  And I wasn’t there to catch him._

“Are you okay?  What’s wrong?” Sam asked quietly.

“Nothing.  I-I just haven’t been back here in a long time.”  Gabriel sniffed loudly and wiped at his face, laughing.  “We are sitting in my favorite place under my favorite tree.  And she is making me very nostalgic.”

Sam gazed up at the looming tree and slowly grinned.  “Is it because she’s a _weeping_ willow?”

Raphael’s laughter cut off any retort Gabriel could think up.  “I believe someone is feeling a little better.”

Sam huffed out a breath, holding his hands carefully on his lap.  “I wouldn’t say I’m ready to run any marathons, but yeah, I don’t feel like I just plunged through dimensions and landed face-first on rocks.”

“That sounds like there is room for improvement,” Raphael said, settling onto the ground in front of them.

“Hold on—I need to get us situated.”  Gabriel shifted Sam around so they faced each other.

“I could just sit on the ground.” Sam frowned, squirming until his toes were dug into the dirt on either side of Gabriel’s hips.

“Not happening,” Gabriel scoffed.  He hadn’t been kidding about not putting this kid down anytime soon.  And he certainly wasn’t about to let him sit on the ground when he had a perfectly good lap available.  “I’m way comfier than the dirt.”

Sam rolled his eyes without saying a word.  Now that they were face to face, it was hard to avoid eye contact—but the kid was certainly doing his best to look anywhere _except_ Gabriel.  He stared out past the willow’s leaves where a group of angels were singing softly in the distance.

Gabriel gently picked up the boy’s hands, inspecting them closely.  The burns were layered overtop scraped skin.  “This looks like a whole lotta ‘not fun.’”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, then hissed when Raphael started on his wings.

“Sorry,” the Healer said.  “This will not be as extensive as that first healing session I did with you.  You have bruised grace and areas that have been stripped raw again.” 

“How soon before we can go home?” Sam asked.

“When I am certain your grace is healthy, strong, and protected enough to handle being flown back,” Raphael said firmly.  He met Gabriel’s eyes over the boy’s head.  **_I have not asked him what happened to bring him here._**

Gabriel’s gaze shifted to Sam.  Below layers of exhaustion left by faded adrenaline from his unexpected adventure was a growing tension.  Nuriel was right—his grace was too obvious.  No matter how schooled his expression and body language, the boy’s grace was churning below the surface.

“Sam?”  He tried to keep his voice light as he focused on healing the torn and blistered skin.

“Hmm?”

“You feel up to telling us what happened?”

Sam winced and chewed his lower lip.  “You mean with the angel blade?”

“No, I mean how you got to Heaven.”

“Oh.”  Sam tried to shrug but couldn’t quite manage with Raphael’s hands on his back.  “I-I don’t really know.”

“Sam,” Gabriel sighed, “come on, bud.  You gotta give us something to work with here.”

“I don’t!  I was asleep,” Sam finally looked at him.  His eyes were guarded, jaw clenched. 

Gabriel stared back gently, eyebrows raised, waiting him out.  He rubbed his thumb over the healed skin of one palm in soothing circles.  Then, began healing the other hand, never breaking eye contact.

“I had a nightmare,” Sam blurted out. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo.  What happened?”

The boy fell silent for a while.  His eyes grew distant, staring through Gabriel’s chest at something only he could see.  By the time his other hand was healed, Sam still hadn’t spoken. 

Gabriel gathered the hands together and pressed a kiss to them.  “It’s okay.  Take your time.  We aren’t going anywhere.”

Sam’s breath caught and the color drained from his face.  “Everyone was gone,” he croaked.

“Gone where?” Gabriel asked quietly.

“ _Gone_.  It was like some kind of apocalyptic future.  Dean and Mom had been dead for centuries.  I was still in the bunker but everything was different.  No power, no food.  There’d been wars—nuclear, supernatural, you name it.”

Gabriel felt cold creep over him.  He glanced at Raphael and saw the Healer frowning back.  “And where were we?  Me, Raphael, and Cas?”

“I-I don’t know about Raphael and Cas.  I think they were…” Sam swallowed painfully.  “They were dead or gone.  Heaven had been invaded.  Destroyed.  It was all gone.  Y-you showed up, though…looking for something.”

“And what did I do?” Gabriel prompted, fearing the answer.  _Please don’t tell me I attacked him or blamed him for everyone’s death._

“You…you were surprised to find me there.  And you snapped up food when you realized I didn’t have any.  But you were fighting a war and couldn’t stay.  So, you flew away and I…” Sam blinked rapidly as he fought to keep control of his emotions. 

“And you tried to follow,” Gabriel finished for him. 

The boy nodded.  “I-I don’t want to b-be alone,” he said, losing the battle with his tears. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” Gabriel pulled Sam to him, letting the kid lay across his chest.  He glanced desperately at Raphael, wishing the Healer could give him the words he needed right now.  But _he_ was the Messenger—words were _his_ domain. 

“I flew forever—it felt like weeks.  And when I landed here, I was half-asleep still and thought…I thought the angel guard had kidnapped me.”

Gabriel had no doubt that the boy had been trapped _between_ for a terrible length of time.  No wonder his wings were in tatters!  He ran his fingers through the tangled mess of curls.  “I am so, so sorry, Sam.  That must have been terrifying.”

“It was stupid!  Just…just a stupid dream,” Sam said, angrily swiping away tears.  “I can’t believe…I just…I acted so stupid!  I could have killed Morpheus!  I could have lost him in _between_ or when I blasted Michael and the others…”

“Hey!  Whoa there, mister!  Take a breath,” Gabriel cut off his tirade.  “None of that was stupid.  Flying into Heaven while you’re asleep?  That’s definitely gonna be disorienting!  And you have good reason to not trust angels who haven’t earned it yet.  Nothing you said or did was stupid.”

Sam stayed still and silent—every muscle clenched to the point of causing fine tremors.  His grace twisted frantically, reaching toward both archangels for reassurance.  They heard a low, miserable hum that carried through the Garden, turning heads toward the distressing sound.

Gabriel couldn’t stand it anymore.  With one hand tangled in curls and the other resting on Sam’s lower back, he dissolved Raphael’s protective wrap from everywhere except the delicate wings.  He wanted nothing to stand between him and the infant grace. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, stirring restlessly at the change.  He tried to push himself upright but Gabriel’s hands kept him in place.

 _Something I should have done a long time ago,_ Gabriel thought as he began draping his own grace around the boy.  “I’m redoing Raphael’s protections.  You are upset and your grace recognizes me better.  Just relax.”

He’d read between the lines of Sam’s dream.  This wasn’t a metaphor or the boy’s mind twisting their fight.  It was a clear picture of what Sam truly feared—an eternity of isolation in a world devastated by events he played no part in preventing.  A life abandoned by those who made life worth living. 

 _I don’t want to be alone._ Sam’s words would haunt Gabriel for years.  Not “I didn’t want to be alone.”  Not past tense.  _I don’t want to be alone._  

He focused on the one thing he realized he’d unintentionally been avoiding.  For all his dramatic displays of affection, he’d rarely let others see the depth of his emotions.  It was time to change that.

Gabriel closed his eyes, drawing on every ounce of feeling the boy in his arms stirred.  _Love, adoration, the need to protect and cherish_.  He cautiously streamed it all into the grace that enveloped the fledgling—not too much at once so as not to overwhelm. 

Sam gasped softly and went still.  His grace surged up to the wrap, pressing tight against it.  “What…?” he broke off with a shuddering breath.  “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Gabriel said sadly, “but you will.  And I promise—you are not alone.  Not now, not in seven centuries, not ever.”

Sam hid his face and Gabriel let him.  He scratched lightly on the back of the kid’s head and neck, infusing the wrap with more emotion.  They drifted there, in warmth and contentment, under the swaying leaves of his favorite tree.

Raphael continued to work on Sam’s wings, gently sealing off the exposed areas and relieving the ache of injury.  He hummed along to the songs sung by the angels in the distance.  Gabriel smiled, feeling the deep bass rumble through them as he played with Sam’s hair.

Things needed to change.  They’d been so wrapped up in treating Sam like an adult that they’d neglected caring properly for his grace.  There would have to be compromise.

Gabriel thought over the last few weeks.  Sam had grown steadily more irritable with each day and they’d all chalked it up to stress or frustration.  But as he felt the boy’s grace soothe itself against his own, he realized there was more to it.

Sam denied his basic needs almost daily—food, sleep, and touch.  The food and sleep were sometimes problematic, but they could usually coax him into eating and resting.  Touch, however, was a bigger issue.

Grooming could only provide so much on its own.  Fledglings _needed_ to be touched by other angels—it fed their grace, nourishing it as it grew.  By pushing them away, Sam was starving himself.  It showed in each outburst of anger. 

A plan took shape in his mind.  It would require a lot of patience and love.  And possibly some firmness.  _Not my strongest suit_ , Gabriel admitted to himself.     But he was willing to do anything to make the boy in his arms understand he was fucking wanted.

“Gabriel,” Raphael said softly, “I am done for now.  He should be protected enough to take home.”

“Awesome.”  Gabriel pushed the hair away from Sam’s temple.  The kid still had his face planted against Gabriel’s chest, but he seemed much calmer.  “You hear that, Samshine?  You ready to go home?”

Sam nodded, turning his head so he could see.  He blinked at the brightness of the Garden, then yawned.  “Yeah.  Oh…oh God, I forgot.”  He pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  “I prayed to Cas!  I told him not to trust Zadkiel.  Are they…are they alright?”

“They are fine,” Raphael reassured.  “I have spoken to Castiel and Zadkiel several times now and kept them apprised of our situation.  Your family is safe, though eager to have you home.”

“I bet Dean is being a terror,” Sam groaned. 

“All the more reason to get a move on, don’t you say?”  Gabriel stood, keeping Sam in his arms. 

The boy instantly started squirming and protesting.  “Gabriel, I can walk!”

 “Uh huh.  That’s nice.  Maybe next time, _if_ you remember your shoes, I’ll let you walk around.”  Gabriel glanced back to make sure they still had Morpheus.  The canine was running after them, a cloud of butterflies trailing behind him.

Raphael raised an eyebrow at him.  _The ground is safe enough for him to walk.  It is not like there is broken glass or nails in Heaven’s Garden._

 _Have you even met me before?  If you think I’m putting him down for one second, you are sorely mistaken._ Gabriel glared back, tightening his hold on Sam just a little bit more. 

His brother laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that carried across the Garden.  Nuriel and Barachiel’s heads turned at the sound.  They gave thanks to the healers and rushed to join them. 

“Are you healed?” Raphael asked Barachiel with a mock-stern look. 

“Good as new!”  The seraph showed Raphael his arm and winked at Sam.  “Even got to keep the scar.” 

Sam blushed bright red and groaned.  “I-I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“No worries!  It’s good for me—keeps me on my toes.  I’d gotten a bit too rusty over the years.”  Barachiel grinned and looked Sam over.  “How are _you_ feeling?  Better now that Raphael’s fixed you up?”

“Uh, yeah.  I’m fine.” 

Raphael scoffed loudly.  “He would say that if he were bleeding out.”

“Well, he always was a special kinda idjit,” a gruff voice said from near the Garden entrance.

Gabriel almost dropped Sam when the boy suddenly twisted in his arms.  The man looked just like the archangel remembered from all those years ago at Crawford Hall.  He even still had the old tucker cap on.

Sam gasped.  “Bobby?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry the Biker is based on a real-life biker group known as B.A.C.A., which stands for Bikers Against Child Abuse. They are amazing! Their group will go with hurt kids to their court hearings, stand guard outside their homes if they feel unsafe, even escort them places on their bikes. Check them out: http://bacaworld.org/


	11. And Feed Them On Your Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE SHOUTOUT TO MY DARLINGS: MonPetitTresor, TalkingToMyselfAgain, WhinyWingedWinchester, and ScrollingKingfisher...you four especially have seen me through these past two months. You are the reason there is a chapter that exists to read. You are the reason I am even still here. So...thank you <3<3<3
> 
>  
> 
> *TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF CHILD ABUSE*

Sam gaped at the man in the Garden. 

Clad in his usual trucker cap, flannel, and vest, Bobby stood out among all the angels.  “I remember you bein’ a bit _bigger_ last I saw ya,” he said with a grin. 

“Bobby, you’re here,” Sam said, dumbfounded.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t in Hell anymore.  Did gettin’ shrunk mess with your memories?  ‘Cause you’re the dumbass who traipsed down below to bust my soul free.”  Bobby studied him closely, narrowing his eyes as he walked up to them.

Sam’s vision of his father figure blurred, washed away in tears of joy.  He reached tentatively for him, wondering if his fingers would pass through the flannel shirt and red vest like an apparition.  Could he touch a soul?

“Go ahead,” Gabriel encouraged.

Sam’s fingers met the solid, familiar fabric of Bobby’s clothes and curled tightly around the vest collar.  Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he laughed.  He never thought he’d see this man again, let alone touch him. 

“Hi’ya, kid,” Bobby said softly.  He covered Sam’s hand with his own and looked him over in awe.

“Bobby,” Sam breathed.  He twisted in Gabriel’s arms, clamoring for the hunter with his other hand. 

“Whoa there!  Okay.  Gimme a second!”  Gabriel transferred him to Bobby, keeping a hand against his back. 

A tingly rush of emotion ran over Sam’s skin.  The feeling remained after Gabriel dropped his hand and moved a few feet away with Raphael to give them some sense of privacy.  It was hard to think around the cloud of _feelings_ in his mind and chest.

“You okay, Sam?” Bobby asked quietly.  He wiped the tears from Sam’s cheeks with deep-lined knuckles. 

“Yeah.  I…I think so.”  Sam tried to reassure him with a smile. 

Bobby frowned.  “What are you doin’ up here, kid?  From what we heard over the radio, this wasn’t a planned visit.”

“I flew here…by accident,” Sam said, taking a shaky breath, “in my sleep.”

“You boys never could do things the easy way, could ya?” Bobby muttered.  “But you’re okay?  You get hurt?”

Sam shook his head and glanced at the archangels.  The tightness in his chest relaxed when he saw them.  “I’m good.  Raphael fixed me up.”

“Bein’ fixed up doesn’t sound like you weren’t hurt.”  Bobby turned Sam’s face with a finger against his chin.  “Was it the flyin’ or did something happen when you got here?”

Sam saw fire in Bobby’s eyes and finally managed a genuine smile.  “Mostly the flying.  I’d only managed a couple feet around the yard back home.  Crossing dimensions was a bit much on my… wings.  Plus, I may have freaked out once I got here but no one hurt me.”

He realized as he said it that it was true.  Not a single angel, including Michael, had hurt him during all their scuffles.  Even the wing binding, while terrifying, had not been painful.  Everyone had done their best to be exceedingly gentle with him—and he’d electrocuted and stabbed them in return.  _Great first impressions,_ he thought wryly.

“Then why you look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon?” Bobby asked with a scowl.

“I, uh, may have accused them all of kidnapping me.  And then electrocuted them with my grace, including Michael.  And stabbed one of them.”  Sam winced.

Bobby’s eyes went wide.  “Well, that sounds like a terrible way to wake up.”

Sam huffed a laugh and leaned forward.  He took a deep breath.  Familiar smells flooded his senses and suddenly, it felt like he’d just stepped through the door of Singer’s Salvage again—cheap whisky, motor oil, lemon mechanic’s soap, and kitchen herbs.  _Home._

“I missed you, Bobby,” he murmured, pushing his nose closer against the man’s neck.

“I missed you too, Sam.  So damn much.”  Bobby tightened his arms around Sam and swayed in place, each lost in the moment.  Then, he cleared his throat.  “Your archangel’s givin’ me the stink eye, so I’m guessin’ we don’t have much time.  Impatient feller, ain’t he?”

Bobby’s eyes shifted toward the archangels and Sam’s gaze followed.  Raphael was at least trying to give them the illusion of privacy by facing out over the field away from them.  He had an arm slung over Gabriel’s shoulder in casually calm restraint.  But Gabriel was staring straight back at Sam with open concern. 

“He’s not always like this,” Sam said, holding up a finger to ask for another minute. 

“Not always like a new daddy who’s watchin’ a stranger handle their kid?” Bobby smirked.

Sam whipped back around in horror, pressing his hands against the hunter’s bearded mouth and wishing he could push the words back past his lips.  “Oh my God, Bobby,” he whispered fiercely, “why would you say that!?  Eww!  I can’t believe…You know he can hear you, right?”

“Pretty sure he can hear you too,” Bobby mumbled around Sam’s hands.

“Yes, he can!” yelled Gabriel.  “And the correct term is ‘Flock Leader’ or ‘Flock Alpha,’ not ‘daddy.’  Let’s all try and remember that, please.”  The archangel shuddered. 

“Oh God!”  Sam buried his blazing face in Bobby’s vest.  He felt the old hunter chuckle at his pain and tried to kick him with bare feet.

“Hey now, no kicking!”  Bobby dug two fingers into the top of Sam’s knee.  His aim was perfect, causing Sam to gasp out a squeal and jump on reflex. 

“Damn it, Bobby,” Sam grumbled, rubbing his knee. 

“Don’t you ‘damn it, Bobby’ me, boy!”  The hunter laughed, crushing him in another hug and whispering in his ear, “Now, listen.  We ain’t got much time before you’re gonna go home.  So, tell me,” he turned so his back was to the archangels, “do you trust them?”

Sam nodded against his shoulder.

Bobby leaned back, his eyebrows raised.  “You didn’t even think about it.”

Sam rubbed a hand over his arm.  His skin still tingled from the grace Gabriel had placed around him.  “I-I can’t explain it, Bobby.  But with everything that’s happened this past month or so?  Yeah, I trust them.  They saved me.  They’ve taken care of me and Dean and…and Mom.  Oh, Bobby—Mom’s back!”

“I know, Sam.” Bobby grinned but there was an edge of sadness.

“That’s right.  Raphael said you knew her up here.  You must miss her now.  I’m sorry.”  Sam bit his lip.

“You stop that.”  Bobby pulled Sam’s chin down gently until his lip was released.  “Don’t go fussin’ on my account.  You boys need your momma more than I do.  It’s only right you get to know her.  Now, I want you to do me a favor.”

Sam nodded, eager to do anything for his father figure.  “Of course!  Just name it.”

“I’ve known you since you were an itty-bitty thing, smaller than this,” Bobby hoisted Sam up in his arms, “and there were times when you let yourself just be Sam.  Like when you’d sit with me on the couch and watch shows or let me read to you.  Or when you boys got older and you’d call me just to talk for no good reason.  But then there were times when you were a Winchester.”

Sam’s stomach clenched.  He shook his head but couldn’t find the words to say.  His hands tightened on Bobby’s vest.

“Don’t shake your head at me.  It took a year of coming to my house before you’d start eatin’ the food I’d set in front of ya.  Just completely ignored it and waited for Dean to fix you something.  And once I got you boys back in my life, there were times when you’d decide to go at things alone because it was ‘too dangerous’ for anyone not a Winchester and I’d be left waitin’ by the phones.  Again.  All I’m sayin’ is—give yourself time to just be Sam for a while, okay?  Because it sounds like you got a good thing goin’.”

“Bobby, we never meant… I didn’t…”

“Stop.  I ain’t lookin’ for apologies.  I had a lot of time to think up here…about things I wish I’d done different.  And I wished I’d known to say that to you back when you first let me hold you like this.”

Sam sniffed loudly and wrapped his arms around Bobby’s neck.  All he’d ever wanted as a kid was for someone to tell him to “just be Sam.”  That being himself was enough.  But did he even know how to “just be Sam” anymore? 

“Thanks, Bobby,” he whispered.

“Aw, hell, kid.  You don’t have to thank me for something that should have been said to you all along.  Now—oh, hey there, little guy!  Ain’t you just a tiny bundle of fluff.  And you talk!  Well, that’s a new one, even for me.”

Sam turned to see Morpheus rolling around Bobby’s feet.  A few butterflies still fluttered in the air above him.  The canine yipped and pawed at the hunter’s leg—or ankle, really, considering his reach didn’t extend much higher in his small form. 

“You can hear Morpheus?” Sam asked.

Bobby crouched down to pet him, bracing Sam on his knee.  “Yeah.  It’s weird.  His voice don’t exactly match his body, if you know what I mean.”

Sam nodded.  It had been odd to him at first too.  “Morpheus is a special dog.  He came from Hecate and has two sizes.  This is his… small size.” He glanced between the canine and the hunter, worried about Bobby’s reaction.

“A shapeshifter of sorts, huh?” he asked, continuing to pet him.  Morpheus yipped and licked his hand.  Bobby nodded.  “From what I know, Hecate is a very special lady.  Oh, you take care of my boy here, do you?  Uh huh.” 

Sam grinned.  He heard Bobby’s skepticism.  “I said this is his small size.  You think it’s safe to shift up, Morpheus?”

The canine yipped just as two shadows moved over them.  Sam turned to find both archangels walking up to them.  “It is safe,” Raphael said with a smile.

Gabriel knelt next to them, his eyes only on Sam.  “You doing okay, kiddo?” he asked quietly, placing a hand on Sam’s back. 

Warmth and _love_ infused his chest, tingling along his skin.  Sam sucked in a breath.  Why did Gabriel keep doing that?  “Yeah,” he croaked out, managing a small smile.

“Morpheus, if you wish to shift it may be best to move a few feet away.  I do not believe Bobby is prepared to see your change and he is holding your charge,” Raphael said in an amused tone.

“He ain’t gonna burst outta his skin, is he?” Bobby muttered to Sam.

“No,” Sam snorted.  “He’s just…bigger than most dogs.”

Morpheus sprinted several yards away, then gave a full-body shake before growing into his fuller size.  Bobby froze, tightening his grip on Sam.  His muscles were tensing as though preparing to run. 

“Bobby, it’s okay,” Sam tried to reassure.  “It’s still Morpheus.  I promise.”

“Sam—that thing is bigger than a horse.”

“He’s not a thing, Bobby.”  Sam winced.

Morpheus walked closer, his blue eyes trained on the hunter holding Sam.  When he got close enough to touch, he sniffed against Bobby’s hat.  Satisfied, the canine moved on to Sam, sniffing his hair and face and clothes, inspecting every inch. 

“I’m fine, Morpheus,” Sam mumbled through closed lips, not chancing getting a tongue or nose pushed into his mouth.  The hands around him tightened again, making him fear the hunter might try to run off with him.  “Bobby,” Sam said, trying to gain the upper hand, “I promise—Morpheus is safe.  He carries me on his back.  Even _Dean_ lets him sleep in bed when we share!”

Bobby swallowed.  “Yeah, I’d love to see your brother fight against… _him_ over bed space.”

Morpheus snuffed a laugh and rolled his eyes.  Then, he turned his gaze again on Bobby, tilting his head to the side.  Sam wished he could hear what was being said—because whatever it was had the archangels chuckling and Bobby snorting.

“Well, I hope someone at least got a picture,” he said, releasing his death grip on Sam and lowering him to the ground.  “I’d pay good money to see his face.”

“Who’s face?” Sam demanded.  No wonder Dean was frustrated when he couldn’t hear him talking to Morpheus or the angels—this was awful!

Gabriel barely let his toes touch the grass before he’d scooped Sam up.  “Your brother’s face when he first met Morpheus and got sneezed on.  And he thought he’d been cursed.”

“Put me down, Gabriel!” Sam snapped, twisting in the archangel’s grip before he gave into the desire to lean closer. 

“I think someone is grumps,” Gabriel teased lightly but he studied Sam’s face with care.

“Only because you seem to think I’m incapable of walking,” he grumbled. 

“Ri-ight.”  Gabriel smiled and kissed his forehead, much to Sam’s continuing horror.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how tired you are or the shock of your impromptu flight here?”

“Well, those things certainly don’t help.”  Sam scowled at him, wiping his forehead.

“Hey!” Gabriel grabbed his hand and for a moment Sam thought something was wrong.  “Don’t wipe my kiss away!  Now, you’re getting two.”  And he did plant two big wet kisses—one above each eyebrow. 

Sam stared at him in bewilderment.  “What… what is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” Gabriel looked puzzled as he stood, raising them both.

“I mean,” Sam sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper.  “I mean you were pissed at me a few hours ago.  Furious enough to draw your blade.  And now you’re being all… nice and goofy and it makes no sense.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Gabriel’s face softened into a smile so sad it made Sam want to apologize and take back everything he’d just said.  “No, sweetheart.  There are so many things wrong with that statement—and I promise, we will discuss all of them when we get home.  But even if I _am_ angry with you it does not change whether or not you deserve to be loved or comforted.  Okay?”

“What?” Sam asked, more confused than ever.  _Loved?_   Did he really just say that word out loud?  In front of others?

“Alright, folks.  It’s definitely time to go.”  Gabriel gathered him closer.  “Raphael, can you tell the guard to join us in Heart Hall?  Do we have everything?” 

“Wait, I—” Sam twisted to look at Bobby, suddenly unsure about leaving.

“There were some books that were left behind in my haste to get to Samuel earlier.  But I can return for them later,” Raphael said.

Gabriel nodded.  “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be in the mood for lessons for a few days.”

“You’re _not_ bringing books back?  But—” Sam whipped around to Raphael, making his head spin. 

“Sam, look at me.”  Gabriel’s voice was gentle but firm.  It took Sam a second to focus—he was torn between wanting to stay awhile with Bobby and arguing with Raphael over books.  But he managed to lock gazes with the archangel.  “You are tired.  We can visit Bobby and others again when you feel better.  Raphael will come back for the books.  We need to go home.”

“But…” Sam whispered, not even having an argument in mind.  The tingling warmth surged across his chest and back.  He scrubbed at his eyes which felt itchy and wet at the same time. 

“May I?” asked a gruff voice and Sam’s legs tightened around Gabriel’s waist at the thought of being passed around again.  

“Just a quick talk and hugs.  We gotta keep it short.  He’s crashing and we haven’t even flown yet,” Gabriel said in a hushed voice. 

A flutter of panic worked its way through Sam’s belly.  _Haven’t even flown yet._   He hadn’t thought about the flight home.  But now he was.

 _Oh God, if flying across the yard feels like it does,_ he thought as his heart pounded in his ears, _how long will it take to cross dimensions?  How long did it take me to get here?  It felt like… years… lifetimes… oh my God…_

“Hold on—Sammy?  What’s wrong?”  The words sounded so far away and he barely registered the warm hand cupping his cheek.  “I don’t know what happened, Raphael.  He just went pale and trembly.”

“It is when you mentioned flying, brother,” Raphael rumbled from somewhere close by. 

“Oh,” Gabriel’s voice softened into a higher range as he gathered Sam closer.  “Don’t you go worrying about that, Samshine.  I’m gonna be _right here_ the whole time.  As will Raphael and the guard.  We’ll be protecting you from it as much as possible.  This isn’t a lesson—nothing here to learn.  You’ll just sit back and relax and let us do all the work, okay?  Just relax, little guy, come on.  I promise, you’ll be okay.”

The words were just noise but the tone washed over Sam like a light, warm breeze.  The body holding him swayed as fingers carded through his hair.  He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to just breathe. 

Someone began humming.  They were joined by another voice—a soprano who ran a high counter descant over the deep bass. Other voices quickly combined, each adding a unique part to the unknown song. 

The music thrummed through the air.  Sam felt his grace respond—uncoiling and gently moving along to the rhythm from within.  It was like having someone rub his back, but on the _inside._   Strange, yet soothing. 

“I think someone likes that,” Bobby whispered nearby. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Gabriel replied just as softly.  “I wish you could see his grace.”

“I got eyes, boy.  Don’t need to see grace to see him relaxin’.”  The hunter huffed a small laugh.  “He wasn’t kidding when he said he trusted you.”

Sam rubbed his face slightly against Gabriel’s shirt and tried to force his eyes open.  _I can hear, you know!?_ he wanted to grumble, but there was barely enough energy for listening and breathing.  And his body was completely content to just float in that state of being almost physically-asleep but still mentally-conscious.

“I know you can hear us,” Gabriel said with a snort.  The fingers scratching lightly through his hair moved to rest over his eyes.  “Don’t even think about opening these, mister.  All you’re gonna find is my gorgeous mug glaring back at you.”

_Are you… listening to my thoughts?_

“Nooo, you are talking to me.  But you can’t hear me in there right now because Raphael’s blocked all that off.  You got a bit deafened from angel radio when you first arrived, so you’re stuck with old-fashioned ear-hearing for now.”  Gabriel’s fingers traced the outer edge of Sam’s ear.

 _Stop that!_ he said, raising a shoulder to try and get the crawling sensation to stop.  _And why can’t I open my eyes?_

Gabriel sighed and resumed playing with Sam’s hair, keeping the pressure firm so he couldn’t move his head away from the archangel’s shoulder.  “Because you need to relax.  You’re already overstimulated from just _being_ in Heaven.  Give your brain a break, kiddo.”

 _Are we leaving now?_ he asked nervously.

“Shh, yes.  We’re getting ready to leave the garden in just a minute.  But remember—no stressing, okay?”

 _I… I wanna say goodbye to Bobby._   Sam’s fingers worried at one of the buttons on Gabriel’s shirt.  _Please?_

“You can absolutely say goodbye to Bobby,” Gabriel murmured in his ear.  “And I promise, you _will_ be back to visit him again.  Okay?”

Sam nodded, but decided to hold off any real answers until after he survived the flight home.  _Can I… can I see him?  To say goodbye?_

Gabriel snorted.  “Yeah, I think we can swing that for a few minutes.”

“Swing what?” Bobby asked.

“Him gazing upon your beautiful beard while saying goodnight before we go home.”

Sam poked a finger into the archangel’s chest.  _That is_ not _what I said!_  

“Close enough!” Gabriel laughed.  “Or do you mean to tell me you _don’t_ think Bobby’s beard is beautiful?  Because that’s just rude, Sam.”

“Hey, my beard is exquisite.  _Heavenly_ , even.”

“Oh God,” Sam managed to croak out.  He’d never survive if Bobby and Gabriel decided to team up.  It was bad enough when Dean sided with the former trickster.

“No taking our Father’s name in vain while in Heaven, little fledgling,” Raphael said. 

Sam could _hear_ the smile in his voice and wondered how long he’d been able to pick up such things from the Healer.  Then the words sunk in and he frowned.  Was it blasphemy or against the rules?  Could he get in trouble for such things?

“Quit teasing, Raph.  Look, you made him nervous again!” Gabriel grumbled.  His thumbs dug lightly into Sam’s brow, easing the tension and smoothing away his frown.  “Don’t listen to him, Sam.  He’s a goody two shoes who never lets us have any fun.”

Bobby huffed a laugh.  “I can’t see anyone preventing you from having fun if you’ve set your mind to it.”

“Oh, you have met my brother before, have you?” Raphael asked in a wry tone.

“No, no, no,” Gabriel moved quickly, keeping his hold on Sam firm.  “You two are _not_ becoming friends.”

 _Funny,_ Sam said to Gabriel, _I just thought the same thing of_ you _and Bobby._

“Who’s to say Raphael and I ain’t already friends?” Bobby asked.

“Yes, brother,” Raphael interjected.  “Bobby and I were already acquainted before today—and I quite enjoyed his company.” 

“No, this is like… a nightmare.  And _you_ ” Gabriel tugged lightly on Sam’s hair, “can stay out of this, thank you.  Take a nap or something.”

Sam turned his head to hide his grin.  _How am I supposed to take a nap when all the “big people” are too busy bickering about such grown up matters like pranks and who’s allowed to be friends with who?_

“Okay, time to say goodnight,” Gabriel announced.  “This one’s getting delirious with exhaustion.  Poor child.  Probably won’t even make it all the way through a bottle when we get back.”

_Have I bitten you yet?  Because I can do that.  Right here, right now._

“Bless him,” Gabriel said in an overly sweet voice as he turned Sam around in his arms.  “Here you go, Bobby.  Take the little tyke.  Watch the teeth—they’re sharp.”

“Watch the… what?” Bobby asked, gathering Sam easily to him.

 _You’re an ass,_ Sam said to Gabriel as he slowly blinked.  The brightness of the Garden took a bit to filter out before he could focus on Bobby’s face.  “Ignore him,” he whispered to the hunter.  “I only bite as a last resort.”

“You didn’t wait till the last resort the first time you were this little,” Bobby huffed.

“What?”

“You heard me—you bit as a means of introduction.”

Sam blinked several times in disbelief.  “I didn’t _bite_ as a kid!” 

Bobby laughed and crushed him in a hug.  “Ask your brother.  He was the one you bit the most.  You got me a few times.  Don’t think you bit John, but he probably tasted awful.” 

Sam shuddered at the thought of biting his dad.  That would not have gone over very well with the man.  “I’m sure Dean deserved it,” he finally said, pushing John from his thoughts. 

“No doubt.  I’m sure he still does occasionally.  You tell that idjit I said hi, okay?  And that I love you boys.”  Bobby’s arms tightened.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to catch as much of the hunter’s scent one last time.  “I will.  And we love you too, Bobby.”

“Alright,” Bobby sniffed, “your ass needs to go home and get in bed.”

“Nooo,” Sam groaned, strengthening his grip.

“Yes.  You’re half asleep as it is.”  Bobby kissed his cheek, itching Sam’s skin in a familiar way with his beard.  “Here’s Gabriel now.  I look forward to seeing you again soon—although, try to schedule it next time, okay?  No more flyin’ in your sleep.”

“No promises,” Sam mumbled, reluctantly letting go of his father figure when he felt Gabriel take hold of him. 

“Yes, promises,” the archangel said, settling Sam against his chest again.  “We’ll be making sure of it from now on.”

“Gonna tether me to the bed?” Sam mumbled.  His eyes closed as he felt warm grace brush over his skin. 

“Nah, just tether you to myself,” Gabriel answered seriously.  “Alright, looks like we’re all set.  Bobby, it was good to see you again.”

“Well, I’m glad there weren’t monsters with chainsaws chasing me this time around,” Bobby said wryly, then cleared his throat.  “Now, you take good care of my boys.  You hear me?”

“I do.  And I swear on my life, I will.”  Gabriel’s voice rang with grace and promise, and Sam jumped slightly at the sound.  Fingers immediately returned to his hair, silently apologizing for startling him.  When the archangel spoke again, it was in his normal tone.  “Until next time, then.”

“You know where to find me,” Bobby called as they started walking, then added, “Ain’t like I’m goin’ anywhere.”

Tears burned Sam’s throat and eyes, making it hard to breathe without sobbing.  He hated this—hated feeling torn between worlds.  It was like being in a lucid dream and knowing he had to wake up soon. 

It wasn’t _fair_!  Why did he only get to keep people in his life for such short periods of time?  He’d had Bobby some as a kid, then lost him for over a decade until getting him back as an adult—only to lose him again for good after a few years.

The only person who remained a semi-constant was Dean, and even their relationship had suffered immense setbacks throughout their lives.  Between Stanford and the Apocalypse, Purgatory and Gadreel, the Mark and the Darkness, it was a wonder they were still by each other’s side.  But within a few decades…

“Shh, it’s okay,” Gabriel whispered.  “I promise, we’ll be back.  You want that blanket again?  Raphael, gimme that blan—”

 _No!_ Sam shouted mentally, hitting a fist blindly against Gabriel.  _I don’t need a fucking blanket!  I’m not a goddamn baby that needs to be swaddled and rocked, okay?!_   He couldn’t breathe around his own anger and frustration.  It choked him—made him want to either burrow all the way through Gabriel’s chest or claw off his own skin.

A hand grasped his fist, preventing him from striking again.  It quickly gathered his other fist and held them together between their chests.  Sam tried to pull free but it was useless.

“ **Samuel, stop.** ”  Gabriel’s voice was quiet, but Sam found himself instantly obeying.  “ **Why are you fighting me?** ”

He took a deep breath but it released the sobs he’d tried so hard to keep in. “ **I not know!** ” Sam managed to get out past the burning in his chest.

“ **Do you realize you are holding your grace back?** ” Gabriel asked.  He kept a firm grasp on Sam’s hands as they walked out of the Garden and through the hallways.

As soon as Gabriel said the words, Sam _did_ realize it.  He felt the way his grace trembled against his hold, wanting to freely curl against the archangel’s own warm energies wrapped around them.  Still, he didn’t release it—he shouldn’t _need_ to! 

“ **We have discussed this before, little one,** ” Raphael said gently.  “ **Holding your grace back like that only hurts yourself.** ”   

Sam growled in frustration at the pet name.  “ **When discussed?** ”

“ **The very first time I healed you,** ” Raphael answered.  “ **You refused to let it reach for Gabriel then as well.** ”

“ **Not need it,** ” Sam ground out through gritted teeth.  He tugged at his hands again to no avail.  

“ **What is it you think you do not need?** ” Gabriel asked.  “ **Me?  Other angels?  Other grace?  What?** ”

“ **No, no, no,** ” Sam shook his head.  He didn’t have the right _words!_

“ **Ah,** ” Raphael said, sounding closer, “ **you believe you do not need comfort.** ”

Sam went still.  That was _exactly_ the word he was looking for—but there was no way in Hell he could say that to them.  How could he explain that he didn’t _need_ to be constantly coddled when something went wrong?  He wasn’t used to it—it just felt excessive and weird and not something he should let himself grow accustomed to.

“ **Wait.** ”  Gabriel stopped walking.  “ ** _That_ is what this has been about?  This entire time?  I thought you were uncomfortable being touched by our grace—not denying yourself comfort.** ”

Sam did not want to talk about this.  He wanted to hide his face, bury it in the archangel’s shirt, but it was awkward with Gabriel still holding his hands between them.  He ended up curling over them anyway, his forehead barely reaching the fabric. 

“Keep your hands here,” Gabriel sighed, snaking his own arm out so he could wrap it around Sam’s back.  “Alright, we’re making a slight detour, kids.  Barry, how’s the nursery these days?”

“Well, it’s not exactly up to housing any little rascals, but it’s clean.  No debris or damaged sections or excessive dust,” Barachiel said quietly. 

Sam flinched, forgetting the others were even there.  Now he _really_ wanted to hide.  Or maybe wake up in his bed and find out the whole thing had been a crazy dream.

“Wards all still work?” Gabriel asked.

“Oh, yeah—nothing but peace and quiet past those doors.”

“Thank Dad,” Gabriel mumbled.  He hoisted Sam up slightly as they started walking again and moved a hand to the back of his head.  “We aren’t far, Sammy.  Just a few minutes, okay?”

 _A few minutes until what?_ Sam wondered.  He remembered the angels mentioning taking him somewhere earlier—before Raphael and Gabriel had arrived.  Why were they delaying when they were so close to going home?

“I want you three to wait out here,” Gabriel said when they came to a stop.

“Are you certain, brother?” asked Raphael, sounding surprised.

“Yup.  Morpheus and I got this.”

 _Got what?_   Sam frowned and tried to raise his head but the hand held him in place.  _What_ were they doing? 

A door creaked open, and they walked into a room with warm air.  Then, the door thudded shut behind them.  The air seemed to thicken, muffling the world into complete silence. 

Sam gasped—fearing his ability to breathe and hear had both suddenly left him.  But warm air poured into his lungs easily.  And he heard the sound without any distortions. 

“Easy, kiddo,” Gabriel said.  “It’s just the wards.  They keep this room contained from the rest of Heaven—you won’t hear anything over angel radio and all the grace outside this room can’t seep in here.”

Sam carefully opened his eyes and found that the lights were soft enough to not sear his vision.  The room was… not what he’d expected.  Of course, what _could_ he expect from an angel nursery when fledglings weren’t supposed to have physical form?

“What… is this?” he asked, looking around at what appeared to be large round tubes against the walls and an empty, shallow swimming pool in the center of the room.  The walls were round, painted either grey or a weird purple, and had three carpeted steps running along the edges that led to the tubes. 

“It’s Heaven’s nursery.  Where they raised fledglings,” Gabriel explained.  He sounded sad as they looked at all the old equipment. 

“This is the ugliest nursery I’ve ever seen,” Sam blurted out, unable to stop himself. 

Gabriel startled, then laughed.  “You know, you’re absolutely right.  Angels have no sense of style.  Also, you guys don’t usually have eyes to see things like wall colors.  But I’ll have to show you around here and explain everything another day.  That’s not why we’re here right now.” 

“Can I _please_ walk?” Sam asked quickly.  He still wasn’t sure what exactly they’d come here for, but he felt he needed some space first.  The carpet looked clean enough.  And if the wards blocked off all the grace from Heaven, then Gabriel didn’t need to keep holding him. 

“You sure?”  Gabriel frowned. 

“You said the wards blocked everything, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Then, you shouldn’t need to hold me, right?” Sam swung his feet, itching to get down. 

“I don’t think your grace is gonna like it though,” Gabriel warned.

“My grace can deal,” Sam scoffed.  His grace didn’t like a lot of things.  It would get over it. 

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, then nodded.  “Does that mean you’d like me to take the wrap off as well while we’re in here?”

Sam thought of the warm tingly energy that the archangel had continuously renewed through the evening.  It had helped buffer the rest of the angels—but it also contained so much _emotion_.  It might be nice to have a reprieve from it as well.  “Yeah,” he said, looking away.  “As long as it’s not hard for you to re-apply it.  Right?”

“Nah,” Gabriel ruffled his hair and the tingling dispersed.  “It’s super easy.  Alright, I’m just gonna set you down here.  You come sit with me on the steps over there, okay?”

“Umm, yeah?” Sam said with a frown.  “You don’t have to give me that many directions…”

Gabriel carefully sat him on the floor and stepped back. 

A storm seemed to explode from within.  Some unknown force propelled Sam forward, his hands barely able to stop him from face-planting into the floor.  Nausea made every inch of his skin chill.  He swallowed and his shoulders twisted, flinging him forward again. 

 _What is that?_ he wondered, reaching one hand back to feel his along his shoulders.  Something shocked his fingers and he cried out, yanking his hand away.  _Angry!  Angry!  Angry!_

Hands lifted him from the floor, quelling the nausea and dizziness.  His shoulders spasmed until his face hit fabric.  A wheezing whine filled his ears and it took a minute for Sam to realize the noise was coming from his own breathing.

“Okay, okay.  Calm down.  It’s all over.  No more experimenting.  I got you.”  Gabriel’s voice cooed softly as he swayed them back and forth.  Golden grace quickly returned to wrap around Sam’s skin, gradually soothing the raging storm underneath.   “ **There you go.  Slow, deep breaths.**   **You are safe.** ” 

“ **What…?** ” Sam tried to ask, but he couldn’t find more words.  _What was that?  What happened?  What IS happening?_

“Shh, I’ll explain,” Gabriel promised, moving to sit on the steps, “just take a moment to breathe and catch your bearings.”  He cradled Sam’s head in the crook of his left arm and pulled his knees so they rested on the steps to the right of Gabriel’s waist. 

Sam curled in tighter, hiding his face against the archangel’s arm.  His whole body shook with the aftereffects of whatever had just occurred.  He clutched at the shirt, knowing he was probably pinching the skin underneath but unable to be gentler. 

The arm not holding Sam’s head wrapped around his waist and held him closer, the hand smoothing down his wings with an extra layer of grace.  They sat there, swaying in silence, for several minutes.  Sam’s breathing slowly evened out and stopped making whimpering noises without his permission. 

“You feel up to talking a little now, Samshine?” Gabriel asked quietly.

“Wanna go home,” Sam muttered into the fabric. 

“I know you do.”  Gabriel shifted him back a bit so his face wasn’t hidden anymore.  “But here’s the thing—we can’t fly if you’re holding your grace back like that.”

“I won’t!” Sam blinked his eyes open in a panic.

“I know you won’t,” Gabriel agreed with a smile, “because we are going to talk about it and reach an understanding before we go!”

Sam wanted to argue.  He wanted to rail against the idea of being kept in Heaven a second longer!  But behind Gabriel’s smile was a firm resolve that no argument could shake.  So, instead of fighting, he nodded. 

“Wise decision, padawan!  Now, first thing’s first,” Gabriel’s grin slid away into a more serious expression, “why do you think your grace should just ‘deal with’ not having what it needs?” 

“I… What?”  Sam stared up at him.  “I never said that!”

“You did.  I told you your grace would not like it if I put you down, and you said it could deal with it.” 

“But… but liking something isn’t the same as needing it!” Sam insisted. 

“Okay, I should have phrased that better.”  Gabriel nodded.  “What would you have said if I’d told you your grace _needed_ me to keep holding you?”

“I…” Sam paused.  He would have demanded reasons why and still argued against it.

“What if I told you this is something your grace needs every day?” Gabriel asked in a softer voice.

“What?!  No, it doesn’t.”  Sam frowned and tried to sit up. 

Gabriel helped him but kept him on his lap.  “Why do you think it doesn’t need it?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ve never had _that_ happen before!” Sam gestured toward the floor where he’d been set down a few minutes ago.  He startled when he almost hit Morpheus who sat silently next to them.  “Sorry, Morph!  I forgot you were here.”

Morpheus just chuffed and licked his face. 

“You’ve had smaller incidents of that happening.  I don’t think you even knew it was your grace sometimes,” Gabriel said, directing Sam’s attention back toward him with a finger on his chin.  “We’ve been doing the bare minimum to keep your grace sustained.  And it’s time we did better.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam admitted. 

“I know, kiddo.  See, we’ve all been mostly concerned with that old-man brain in there.”  Gabriel tapped Sam’s temples lightly.  “The problem is you’ve got too many ages mixed together and we’ve kinda overlooked the most important.”

“What?”

“How old are you, Sam?”

“I…” Sam started, then shut his mouth. 

Gabriel nodded.  “Exactly.  Too many ages mixed together.  Your soul is two hundred and twenty-three.   Your physical appearance and driver’s license a couple months ago said thirty-four years old.  Now, you look about six.  But then there’s your grace.”

Sam rubbed his chest.  “Isn’t it, like, the oldest thing about me?”

“Interesting assumption.  Why would you think that?”

“It came from Chuck.  And He’s the oldest thing around, being God and all, so I guess I figured…”  Sam shrugged as he trailed off. 

“Well, your theory has some merit.  Except for a few key bits.”  Gabriel grinned and Sam felt his stomach drop, already knowing he wouldn’t like what he’d hear.  “One—if your grace was considered as old as dear old Dad, then you’d be seen as the _oldest_ archangel instead of the youngest member of the entire host.  And two—you _do_ know how babies are made, right?”

“What?!  Yes!”  Sam blushed, wondering where the archangel could possibly be going with his second point. 

“Good!  Then you know that babies aren't the same age as their parents just because they're _made_ from bits from their parents?” Gabriel asked with an eyebrow raised.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes in defeat.  “Okay, so my grace is _not_ old.”

“Kiddo, your grace is exactly thirty-nine days old.”  Gabriel’s voice sounded odd—sad and weighted, like there was more he was saying that Sam wasn’t hearing.

“So, what does that mean?  That my grace is like a baby?” Sam peered up at Gabriel through his messy curls, searching the archangel’s face. 

Gabriel brushed the curls out of Sam’s eyes and cupped his face.  “It means _you_ , as an angel, are a baby, Sam.  Yes, by human standards you are an adult—an _ancient_ adult who’s lived a few lifetimes over.  But no matter which number you go by—two hundred and twenty-three years or thirty-nine days—you are still a baby by angel standards.”

“Ugh, I get it.  I’m the ‘new baby in the family’ or whatever,” Sam pulled his face out of Gabriel’s hands, “but so what?  _What does that mean?_   And how does that get us home?”

“It _means_ that I have been neglecting you as Flock Alpha.  As has Raphael, as head Healer.  We’ve all been so focused on making sure Sam-the-adult is comfortable with the transition that we’ve failed to care for you as a fledgling,” Gabriel said seriously.

“That’s stupid, Gabriel,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head.  “No one’s neglected or failed me.  Certainly not you or Raphael.”

“Oh, sweetheart.  How would you even know?”

Sam scowled even as his mouth went dry.  “I… You’ve fed us every day.  And hang out with us and make sure the bunker doesn’t collapse under the laundry and dishes we don’t do.”

“Feeding you _every day_ and keeping you and our home clean is minimum _human_ care, Sam.” 

“You also teach me grace-stuff!  And there’s daily grooming,” Sam heard his own hysteria rising but Gabriel _had_ to know!  “You have all been like a flock of mother hens!  I can’t turn around without someone fretting over me.  And I know Dean loves it too!  He’s never laughed so much or slept so well—ever!  I don’t understand how you can say that you’re…”

“Shh, it’s okay.”  Gabriel cupped his face again, using his thumbs to wipe away tears Sam didn’t realize he was shedding.  “You don’t _know_ what fledglings need, Sam.  That’s not your job—it’s mine.”

“But you haven’t failed!” Sam yelled, pushing Gabriel’s hands away.  “And I know what I need!”

“You do, do you?  And what is it you need?”  Gabriel moved his hands to Sam’s hips, keeping him steady on his lap. 

“I _need_ to go home!”

Gabriel gave him a sad smile.  “And what does your grace need?”

“It needs to grow the hell up and quit being so goddamn needy all the time!”  The words flew out of Sam’s mouth before he knew what he was saying.  He saw his own shock reflected back on the archangel’s face.

Golden eyes flashed with grace as they narrowed and then Gabriel nodded once as though in sudden understanding.  His hands gently moved Sam until he sat sideways, leaning against the archangel’s chest.  “That… is a very specific thing to say.”  

Sam shrugged.  Tension flooded his muscles so quickly that a fine tremor ran through them.  He clamped his hands together, hoping to keep it from becoming noticeable—an impossible task when sitting on the lap of an archangel.

“I wonder, who said those words to you before, hmm?” Gabriel mused softly. 

Sam stared down at his toes without answering.  He knew _exactly_ who had said those words to him repeatedly as a child.  But there was absolutely _no way_ he was discussing this—not here, not now, not ever!

Gabriel sighed, swaying slightly while rubbing Sam’s back.  It was disconcerting just how comforting and uncomfortable the gestures felt at once.  “I know Bobby asked you this earlier, but I need to ask you too—do you trust me, Sam?  Really trust me?”

Sam glanced up at him in surprise and nodded.  Of course he trusted Gabriel!  Why would he even ask?

“Then let me rephrase that,” the archangel continued.  “When you were growing up, what did John do if you were scared or upset or crying?”

Memories floated to the surface of his mind as though summoned no matter how hard he tried to push them back down.  Being terrified of a storm that knocked out the power at four years old.  Having to change schools for the first time at six years old.  Dean suddenly disappearing while on a food run, leaving Sam alone in an empty motel room for four days before his dad returned to find him starving and panicked at twelve years old. 

_Buck up and quit your crying.  You’re a hunter, not some sissy civilian.  Quit being a baby, or I’ll give you something to cry about!_

The words had been said often enough with little variation.  And there were always consequences if he failed to obey them.  He shuddered at the memories, trying again to bury them. 

His grace had another idea.

A sharp pain tore through his head and spine as his grace wrenched itself out from his control.  Sam gasped as he _felt_ and _saw_ the memories transfer to Gabriel as clearly as speaking over angel radio.  Knew it was too late when the archangel’s vessel tensed under him.  He could only angrily throttle the rogue energy, clench his eyes shut, and wait for the fallout.

“ **You are safe here, Samuel,** ” Gabriel’s ragged voice broke the silence.  “ **Only I could hear you.  And nothing you reveal will reach another’s ears without your permission.** ” 

Gabriel’s fingers trailed down Sam’s neck, then pressed into the spot that forced his wings to relax completely against his back.  Raphael had only done that a couple times before, but it was always an odd sensation.  The fingers at his back circled around to take his hands and smooth a thumb over his aching palm. 

“ **Your words will stay with me, little one,** ” Gabriel promised as he brought his other hand up to rest on Sam’s chest.  Fingers drummed lightly against his thin sleep shirt, calling to the tightly held grace underneath.  “ **I told you this once before but I said it the wrong way—you are a fledgling.  A child, by Heaven’s standards, and a member of my flock.  My fledgling.  My child.  My responsibility.  My business.** ”

Sam wanted to twist away from the tender tone and deny the words.  It wasn’t being said in a fierce steely voice or yelled in anger, and yet the softness seemed more painful.  In grace-fueled Enochian, each whispered phrase rang like a binding vow.  He shook his head and tried to push Gabriel away, but the archangel held him in place with little effort.

“ **I know this is hard, Samuel.  You are tired and this wound is very old.** ”  Gabriel’s hand stopped tapping and simply splayed out fully across Sam’s chest, infusing him with warmth and love.  “ **But it is keeping me from caring for you properly.  You are mine, remember?  Mine to care for and nurture and protect and comfort.  And not even Samuel Winchester is going to stop me from taking care of Samuel Winchester anymore, understand?** ”

Their graces reached for each other—ancient and infant.  Sam tried to hold it back, regardless of the sharp pain it caused throughout his body.  But Gabriel wouldn’t allow him to physically curl inward.  

“ **Take deep breaths for me.  Come on.  Deep breaths, relax, and let go of your grace, Samuel.** ”  Gabriel slowly leaned him back so he laid in the crook of the archangel’s arm again.  The hand on his chest rubbed gentle circles over his sternum.  “ **What your father said and did was wrong.  Existence alone is enough reason to cry, little one.  And you have experienced more than your fair share of pain.  You do not have to ignore it anymore.  No more locking it away or fearing _more_ pain if you let someone see a glimpse of it.  Can you stop holding onto it so tight?  Can you trust me to hold it for you, Samuel?** ”

Sam tried to curl onto his side again—anything to feel less exposed and vulnerable.  It was too much too fast.  They’d just had a fucking fight before bed!  How could they be _here_ only hours later?

When Gabriel’s hands prevented him from hiding again, Sam choked out a sob.  “ **Please, no!** ”

“ **‘No’ what, Samuel?** ”

“ **No more talk!** ”

“ **Why do you not wish to talk?** ”

Sam shook his head.  Tears were building behind eyelids he kept so tightly shut they were starting to hurt.  He couldn’t just let go—not after decades and centuries of clinging to it.  Somedays, that pain was the only thing left that was still _Sam_.  How could he give that to someone else?

“ **Or do you just not wish for _me_ to talk?** ” Gabriel asked when Sam didn’t continue.  A frustrated growl worked its way out of Sam’s throat as he pushed at the ground with his legs.  The archangel chuckled.  “ **Raphael is correct—you are _very_ fierce indeed.  But that will not get you home without this conversation.** ”

“ **Why!?** ”

“ **Because, my fledgling, I must fly us through dimensions to get us from Heaven to Earth.  It will not be an easy trip for you—even with two archangels and two seraphs there for protection.  I cannot risk you trying to yank back control of your grace mid-flight.  Samuel, look at me please.** ” 

Sam shook his head again.  He knew the second he opened his eyes it would unleash a torrent of tears that were caged behind straining lids.  The hand on his chest moved up to cup his face—the thumb rubbing under his eye and up over his brow bone. 

“ **Open your eyes, Samuel.  I promise, I will not go away simply because you cannot see me.** ”

The temptation to bite the hand was strong, but he refrained—mostly because he knew it wouldn’t even damage the archangel.  Instead, he tried to bring his hands up get rid of the tears before they could fall.  Gabriel didn’t ease up his hold. 

“ **Fuck you!** ” Sam yelled.

“ **There we go.  Let it out!** ” Gabriel encouraged, rubbing along Sam’s jaw and neck to keep the muscles loose.  “ **No more hiding—not yourself or your pain.** ”

Sam’s breath caught and he chewed his lip.  The hand returned to his chest and resumed drumming out a light rhythm.  His grace was furious, lashing out viciously until he could no longer hold onto it.  He felt it break free and rush toward Gabriel’s waiting grace. 

His eyes snapped open in panic.  “ **No!** ”

Gabriel’s smile was blinding.  “ **You are alright, Samuel.  I got you.  There we go.**   **Shh, deep breaths.** ”

Terror and rage coiled in Sam’s belly—emotions not attached to specific memories of events or times or faces and not connected to the present either, yet still overwhelmingly recognizable.  Warmth poured into his chest, countering his violent storm with calm stillness.  Sam tried to pull the storm back to him but it was no use. 

A small sob escaped him, quickly followed by another.  He kicked his legs out of sheer helpless frustration.  “ **Stop!** ”

“ **Stop what, little one?** ” Gabriel asked steadily.

“ **You stop being nice!**   **Stop!** ”

“ **How do you wish me to act instead, hmm?** ”

Sam glared up at him.  Tears ran freely down his face but he could do nothing to stop or hide them—not when his hands were still being held in a too-gentle grasp.  He turned to Morpheus, hoping to find an ally.  The canine was watching with sad blue eyes and nuzzled Sam’s hair.

“He says,” Gabriel cleared his throat, sounding overcome by emotion.  “He says that he will not wash your face until you are finished draining this wound.  But that he is here with you.”

Some of the intense fight drained out of Sam, leaving him lethargic.  He closed his eyes and turned his head into Gabriel’s arm, just wanting to go to sleep and wake up in his bed.  No one asked _him_ if this “wound” needed draining—he’d covered it in enough bandages and cloths in hopes that the damn thing would just rot off unnoticed. 

“No, no, Samshine.  No more hiding,” Gabriel coaxed, nudging his chin with fingers.

Sam blinked up at him, trying to clear his vision enough to focus on the archangel’s face.  “I don’t know what you want from me, Gabriel,” he whispered.

“I know,” Gabriel said with a sad smile. “How do you _think_ I should act?  Like John?  Should I shove weapons in your hand and scream at you for showing emotion?  And if you can’t stop, should I throw you in a cold shower or slap you around or maybe take a belt to your butt so you’d have a _real_ reason to cry?”

Sam froze, eyes wide in shock.  He’d known Gabriel had seen his memories.  But to hear him describe those events out loud—events that had never been spoken about and some Dean didn’t even know happened—was like a punch to the gut!

Gabriel continued speaking in the same calm tone as his hand resumed rubbing gentle circles on Sam’s chest.  “The real question is _why_ you’d rather I act like John.  I think I have it narrowed down to two possibilities.  Either you really did agree with his assessment of you and believe you deserved that treatment.  Or you only know how to react to someone treating you like John did—and the idea of being cared for and adored scares the shit out of you more than being belittled and beaten.”

“My dad didn’t… he didn’t beat me,” Sam mumbled, ashamed of even the word. 

“Father help me,” Gabriel sighed heavily and shook his head.  “That is a conversation for another day.  The fact is, I will never be John.  And regardless of the reason why you keep pushing for me to ‘stop being nice’ or refusing to allow yourself comfort from any of the flock, you are _not_ going to get the outcome you want.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, frowning.

“Come here,” Gabriel said, shifting him upright so Sam was in his usual place—against the archangel’s chest, face tucked against his neck.  Tingly warmth swept across his skin and infused downward into his grace.  “It means I am going to be Gabriel, your Flock Alpha.  I am going to love and protect all the members of my flock—human and angel.  And you are mine—my fledgling, my child, my responsibility.  Your grace is less than two months old, Sam-a-lam.  And it has had to sort through over two centuries of memories—most of which are trauma and torture.  It is _hurting._   It is _scared._   It does _not_ need to be told to grow up.  And it definitely doesn’t need an angel blade.”

Small trembles worked their way through Sam’s limbs.  He chewed his lip as his breathing grew faster.  The tingling heat of Gabriel’s grace intensified, flooding under his skin and filling his entire torso.  He felt his own grace respond and it was _too much._   

Gabriel’s fingers dug into the muscles of his lower back, easing the tension there while his other hand carded through his hair and scratched at his scalp.  “ **You are also hurting and scared.  And you do not need to grow up faster or arm yourself with an angel blade either**.”

He choked on the first real sob—a high, desperate sound that he’d never heard himself make.  Gabriel’s hand slipped under his thin shirt and soothed along his spine, leaving a blazing trail of heat across his skin.  Another sob burst past his bit lips, wet and loud. 

“ **There we go.  Let it out.  I got you.** ”  Gabriel swayed on the steps as he murmured encouragements, never hushing him. 

Their graces interacted on a level Sam had never experienced before—like Gabriel was holding him on the inside the same way he held his physical body.  His hands clung to the archangel’s shirt, wringing the fabric in a frantic attempt to get closer.  Everything burned from his eyes to his toes and he didn’t know what to _do_ with it all!

“ **No, no, no.  No tensing up.  Relax and breathe.** ” 

Another rush of calming energy flowed through Sam, releasing the tension in his muscles.  And that was all he needed.  One large breath filled his lungs and he was gone on the exhale. 

He cried hard.  Loud, angry sobbing that occasionally turned to wails poured from his mouth and there was no containing them.  Not when he felt his grace wailing with him—could practically _see_ the two-month-old infant Gabriel described being forced to experience the tortures of the Cage as its own.  It made him cry harder at the tragedy and unfairness of it all. 

“ **I know.  I know.  It is not easy.  But you are doing so good.  You _are_ so good, Samuel.  There you go.** ”

Sam didn’t know how long he cried.  It felt like a lifetime.  Every time he thought he was finished, a new wave of fury or grief would crash over him. 

Through it all, Gabriel never ceased his words of reassurance.  His grace completely covered Sam inside and out—and Sam had no desire to push it away anymore.  If anything, he feared the moment they would need to part ways and tried to grasp it tighter. 

He knew the separation would rip his grace from the shards of his soul and leave him gutted.  But it was too late—he’d already let Gabriel in.  How could he ever hope to survive?

* * *

Gabriel held Sam through his violent tears, wishing he could do more than just rock him.  The agony emanating off the boy was sickening.  It rolled through the tiny grace-soul and Gabriel could only wrap his own grace around it and draw the pain away. 

Sometimes, memories flickered across their bond.  He saw images of Lucifer, the Cage, John, demons, and others he couldn’t name.  Sam’s cries would grow louder with each one and he began pulling Gabriel’s grace toward him instead of pushing it away. 

The relief of finally getting to hold the young grace was mixed with the sadness of having to battle a child over the chance to comfort him.  

It took over an hour for the sobs to quiet down.  By then, the boy’s grace and body were melted against him.  _Thank you, Father!_ he thought, hoping his Dad caught his gratitude wherever He happened to be.

There was a small spike of fear as the kid’s grace burrowed further into him and tiny fingers dug tighter into Gabriel’s shirt.  “Oh, Sam,” Gabriel laughed, holding him closer too, “I’m not letting you go anytime soon, kiddo.  Not after fighting so hard to get here.  No, I’m afraid you’re gonna be stuck with me for quite a long time.”

Sam’s breath gave a slight hitch at the proclamation.  Gabriel just kept swaying and rubbing his back.  He felt Sam turn his head, trying to wipe his face, but everything on Gabriel’s neck and shoulder was soaked in tears and sweat and snot.

“Okay, sweetheart.  I think it’s time to do some clean up.  What do you say, hmm?” he asked quietly without pulling Sam away.  The kid nodded and peeled his face from Gabriel’s neck to reveal… a mess.  “Oh, yeah.  Definitely clean up time.”

Gabriel snapped up a bowl of cool water and a cloth.  But before he could use it, Morpheus began systematically lapping away the main bulk of the tears and snot.  Sam even turned his face and let him get the other side when the canine nosed at the boy’s chin. 

Dipping the cloth into the water, he rung it out and brought it to Sam’s face.  “Here we go,” he whispered, wiping the puffy pink skin around his eyes and nose.  “This should feel better.”

An unexpected tongue against Gabriel’s neck made him jump.  _Hold still, Gabrieloki.  You need cleaning too._

“Well, I guess it’s bath time for all of us,” Gabriel said wryly. 

Sam’s eyes were dazed but trying to focus on Morpheus as he licked down into the juncture between Gabriel’s neck and shoulder.  It tickled, making Gabriel laugh and squirm and pull a face.  Sam stared at him as though not quite sure what he was seeing.

“You with us, kiddo?” he asked, running the washcloth lightly down the bridge of Sam’s nose.  The boy scrunched up his nose and pulled away but didn’t answer.  His breathing stayed calm and his grace was humming pleasantly—he just seemed out of it.  “That’s okay, Sam.  You don’t have to talk anymore.”

Hazel eyes darted up to meet his.  _Really?_ echoed loudly through their grace.  There was equal parts disbelief and surprise in his tone.

Gabriel smiled and kissed his forehead.  “Yes, really.  You have talked enough already.  I’m very proud of you, Sam.  What you did was very hard, and you did it anyway.  Thank you.”  He pulled back and rewetted the cloth to clean Sam’s neck.  “Almost done.  Then we can go home, okay?”

Sam nodded and gave him a small smile. 

Another snap got rid of the bowl and dried Gabriel’s shirt.  “Perfect!  Now Barry can’t tell me I made extra work for him in the nursery.  How do I look?  Did Morpheus give me a hickey?” 

Morpheus chuffed and nipped at his ear when he turned his head to show Sam.  _Do not tempt me, Gabrieloki.  I can leave more than a hickey._

“Yikes!  I’m just saying—last time someone licked my neck that much, I had something to show for it.”  Gabriel winked at Sam and got a half-giggle for his efforts.  It sounded like tiny chimes ringing in the air.  Literal music to his ears.  “Alright.  You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Sam glanced at the door nervously, then back at Gabriel.  He nodded, trying not to reveal the extent of his anxiety.  But Gabriel felt it all through their entwined grace. 

“Don’t worry, kiddo.  I got ya.  And I ain’t letting you go, okay?”  Gabriel meant the words on so many levels—more than applied to just this moment.  He reached out his hands.  “Come here you.”

Sam’s arms came up automatically, allowing himself to be lifted as they stood.  The boy didn’t put his arms around Gabriel’s neck though.  Instead, he kept them tucked between their chests, his fingers playing with the buttons and seams of Gabriel’s shirt.  It wasn’t until a finger actually made its way _inside_ his shirt that he realized Sam was trying to get closer—even if it was unconscious. 

The boy was beyond starved for touch and affection.  Gabriel had felt it the second his hand made contact with the skin on Sam’s back—his entire _being_ had lit up.  It wasn’t just his grace that needed handling more.

Gabriel grinned as a solution struck him and he turned back to kneel on the floor by the bottom step.  “Ok, I know this is awkward.  But trust me.  Stand on this step and hold onto my neck for a second.” 

There were a few moments of maneuvering and grumpy grunts, but Sam eventually managed to get into position.  Gabriel quickly took his jacket and zipped it up around them both.  The boy’s size meant that his butt rested just at the base of the jacket, allowing him to use it like a seat. 

As soon as Sam was wrapped tightly against him, his nerves seemed to settle.  Gabriel tucked the boy’s arms back inside and zipped the jacket up to the top, making sure it didn’t catch his curls.  When he stood back up, it was very easy to just slip an arm under his thighs to keep him from slipping out. 

“I’ve already reapplied all the protections to you and your grace.  So, when I open this door, you shouldn’t feel anything beyond maybe a cool rush of air.  That’ll just be the loss of the wards from the nursery.  You’ll still be completely protected—even more than you were before we stepped in here, okay?” Gabriel explained. 

Sam nodded against him.  There was a small flutter of anxiety but nothing like the rolling panic of earlier.  The young grace remained nestled against Gabriel just as the boy sighed and stretched an arm across the archangel’s chest. 

 _Good.  He can be close and not curled in on himself,_ Gabriel thought.  The tension and curling up were ways of closing off, making one’s self less vulnerable.  It was why he tried to keep Sam relaxed during the whole lead-up to crying, knowing the boy’s body would take over if he’d just let it. 

The door creaked open to reveal the very worried faces of Raphael and two caretakers.

Gabriel gave them his brightest grin.  “Miss us?”

“You were gone for a very long time, brother.”  Raphael looked them over, his eyes rapidly moving over the child tucked inside Gabriel’s jacket.  **_Is he well?_**

Gabriel nodded and closed the door once Morpheus was clear of it.  “I know, but that’s what you get when you let me, a magic dog, and a fledgling into a nursery by ourselves without supervision.  Don’t worry—I cleaned up my mess!”  He started walking toward Heart Hall and the others were left with no choice but to follow. 

 ** _Gabriel, are_ you _well?_ ** Raphael asked him, his tone soft even in his mind.

 ** _I am fine, Raphael,_** Gabriel waved him off.  **_It was very difficult.  But I was able to get through to him.  We are safe to fly back to Earth now._**

Raphael sighed.  **_You are upset, little hummingbird._**

 ** _I am._**   Gabriel could barely contain the rage that he’d held back the past hour or so.  Seeing Sam’s memories through the boy’s own eyes, feeling his fear and pain and helplessness, had almost been his undoing.  **_But I cannot talk about it without Samuel’s permission.  I made a promise._**

**_Of course, brother.  I am just concerned.  It is rare to see you so…_ **

**_Angry?_**   Gabriel glanced to his right, allowing Raphael to _see_ the rage in his eyes.  He had to be very careful not to allow the emotions to seep through his grace. 

 ** _Yes.  Angry.  It is not an emotion you embraced often._** Raphael stared at him in open concern.

 ** _Oh, but I am the Archangel of Justice.  Surely, I was allowed righteous wrath?_**  

 _Gabriel?_ Sam’s sleepy voice interrupted.

He almost tripped in his haste to stop.  Tightening his hold on the boy, Gabriel ran a hand over the curly hair sticking out of the top of the jacket.  “Yeah, Sammy?”

 _It’s okay.  You can just tell him you’re mad at my dad.  As long as…_ Little fingers fiddled nervously with a button again.  _Just don’t go into all the details maybe?  I dunno._

“Can you _hear_ us, sweetheart?” Gabriel asked in a low murmur, bringing his head closer to Sam’s ear.  He’d kept the muffling protections of Raphael’s in place for a reason. 

 _I can hear you.  Not Raphael._   Sam shrugged—an awkward move when inside someone else’s jacket with them. 

“I’m sorry, Sam.  I was trying to be quiet enough…”  A pinch to his side made him jump and close his mouth.

 _I said it’s okay.  I… I can tell you’re not mad at_ me.

“You can?” Gabriel asked, relief sweeping through him.  Words were one thing—but it was the rage itself that he’d most wanted to keep away from Sam.

_Yeah.  I can tell you’re mad.  But it’s not at me.  It’s weird… inside._

“ _You’re_ weird inside,” Gabriel whispered teasingly.  He got another pinch in retaliation followed by another half-giggle. 

The seraphs and Healer all turned at the sound.  In fact, doors all along the hallway were opening and heads peered out in search of the long-forgotten noise.  Hope and awe shone on all their faces. 

Gabriel smirked and reached his hand around in search of a bare foot.  “But not _nearly_ as weird as you are on the outside,” he said, trailing fingertips along the arch of the exposed sole. 

“Fucking asshole!” Sam screamed, laughing as he dug his own fingertips into the archangel’s ribs.  He tried to squirm away, but the jacket held him in place.  “This is _not_ fair!  Raphael, I’m calling foul play on your brother!”

“Yes, that _does_ sound like Gabriel.  Do you require assistance?” Raphael called with a smile.  Then, he raised an eyebrow to Gabriel.  **_May I approach him, brother?_**

Gabriel’s wings puffed a little in response, but he forced them down.  It was hard to _not_ be territorial with flock members after such intense grace bonding—which was why Raphael was being so cautious.  He smiled and nodded to the Healer as he continued the light assault on his fledgling’s foot. 

“Oh, you think _Raph_ is gonna help you, do you?  Good luck with that!” he drawled out over Sam’s laughs.  “What are you gonna do—quote rules at us?”

“Hmm,” Raphael hummed thoughtfully.  He motioned to pull the zipper down a little on the jacket and Gabriel nodded.  The Healer carefully unzipped the jacket enough to reveal the boy’s pink sweaty face.  “Hello, Samuel.  Could you use a little help?”

Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and nodded without moving his head away from Gabriel’s chest. 

Raphael moved closer and whispered in the boy’s ear, “You may have better luck using your grace to get his wings.  Especially midway on the second set and the very tips of his first set.”

“Oh!” Sam gasped, eyes bright and wide with excitement.

“Nope, nope, nope!” Gabriel pushed Raphael away and zipped the hoodie back up.  “No wing tickling until we’re back on Earth, _thank you brother._   I’m calling a truce!”  With their luck, Sam would get too enthusiastic and burn half of Gabriel’s wings with lightning before they were done. 

It didn’t take them long to reach Heart Hall.  Most of the angels had cleared out from earlier—probably Michael’s orders.  Oddly enough, the Commander himself had chosen to wait around with Sariel.  Gabriel frowned at him, wondering why the eldest archangel would remain when he knew his presence caused Sam discomfort. 

“My apologies, Gabriel.  I meant to be in the Garden already.  I have a meeting with Bobby Singer there soon but I got caught up in conversation.  I trust all is well?” Michael looked them all over, frowning slightly as he looked at the boy.  

Sam tensed inside the jacket at Michael’s voice.  Gabriel rushed to assure him, wrapping even more grace around the fledgling and running his fingers through his hair.  **_Shh, little one.  He will not come near you nor touch you.  You are safe now._**

 ** _I was told you left the Garden quite a while ago,_** the Commander’s voice whispered in Gabriel’s mind.

Because _of course_ Michael knew they’d left the Garden over an hour ago. _Damn overprotective older brothers,_ Gabriel sighed to himself. “All is well, bro.  Just swung by the nursery to show Sammy all the gloriousness he’d be missing out on by _not_ staying in the grey-purple room full of creepy tanks.  He thinks we all need to take decorating classes and I have to agree with him on that.  Our nursery definitely sucks to any little one who has, like, actual eyes.”

Michael tilted his head, unsure whether or not to be amused.  “I will take that under advisement.  Are you returning to the bunker?”

“Yup!” Gabriel said loudly.  He saw the sad glances being exchanged between the two Caretakers and rolled his eyes.  “And I’m taking Barry with us.  We obviously need another guard member if this little tyke can slip out unnoticed like that.  And I think we could use a second Caretaker on hand.”

Michael turned to the seraphs who were staring at Gabriel in shock and smiled.  “Of course, Gabriel.  Anything you need is yours.”

“Oh, Sammy, what do you think we should say we need, hmm?  A luxury jet?  Waterpark built into the woods?  Maybe a chocolate river?”  A hard pinch silenced him again.

 _How about a gag for rambling archangels?_ Sam grumped.

“Never mind.  We’ll get back to you on the chocolate river.  I think we just want to go home right now.”

“Then I wish you safe travels, brothers.  And I shall take my leave.”  Michael nodded to them all and swiftly exited the Hall for the Garden.  Several seraphs trailed after him, leaving only a dozen to witness their flight.  Sariel broke off from the group and moved to stand beside Nuriel. 

One angel approached Raphael carrying a bag.  “ **Sir?  I brought the items you requested.** ”

“ **Ah, yes!  Thank you very much.  You have saved me a trip and possibly a few tears, I believe,** ” Raphael said with a smile. 

Gabriel moved closer to peek inside the bag and snorted.  The cloth seams were nearly bursting from the weight of the books packed within.  Although, from what he could see, they were much smaller and easier material to digest than the previous tomes the Healer had brought for their newest sibling. 

“Nerds,” he whispered. 

 _What is it?_ Sam asked.

Gabriel grinned, happy to feel the boy’s curiosity stirring now that his anxiety was tempered by grace.  “Raph got your books delivered to him here.  I think he’s brought three times more than last time.”

There was a surge of joy that went through the boy at the mention of books.  But it contained a spark of shame and fear.  Clearly, they still had some things to resolve when they returned home.

“Sir?” Sariel squinted at Gabriel in a confused way. 

“Why do you keep calling me that, Sariel?” Gabriel groaned.  She didn’t answer—just kept staring at him.  “Fine.  What is it?”

“Is it customary for humans to carry their young inside their clothing?” she asked, looking pointedly at Sam.

Gabriel laughed loud enough to echo through the Hall.  “No, Sariel.  I’ve decided to be a trendsetter!  In fact, if we get Morpheus to shift down and stuff him into Sam’s shirt, then we can be like a magical turducken!”

He cackled at his own joke, not expecting anyone else to even get the reference.  All the blank faces staring back at him just added to his merriment.  But the sudden giggling from Sam was the best surprise. 

Silence fell as the beautiful sound drew the attention of everyone in the Hall.

“Well, it’s good to know _someone_ in this family has a sense of humor!” Gabriel said when he could speak again.

“You need to ask Dean about the time he got stoned off a turducken sandwich,” Sam managed to say between his laughter. 

“Oh my Dad, that sounds like a story!”  Gabriel gasped in delight. 

Raphael nodded to him, indicating that it was time to go.  The Healer then knelt down to speak with Morpheus.  Sariel, Nuriel, and Barachiel joined him when he gestured them over.

“Alright, Sam.  We’re about ready to go in a minute, okay?” he said quietly.

Sam’s fingers tightened their hold on his shirt.  “Is it… can I keep my eyes closed?”

Gabriel could hear so many unasked questions in those first two words.  _Is it going to hurt?  Is it going to be okay?  Is it going to last forever?  Is it going to be bad?_   He sighed and pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple.  “Yeah, bud.  You can keep your eyes closed and stay right where you are the whole time.  I’m going to dope you up on some extra grace, too.  Okay?  So it won’t feel as long while we’re flying.  You’ll be awake but loopy.  Kinda like that gas at the dentist’s office.  Have you ever had that?”

“Yeah.”  Sam nodded.  “I guess that’ll be okay.  I don’t really want to feel like I can’t breathe that long.”

“I know, sweetheart.”  Gabriel started to increase the layers of grace around the boy, upping the intensity past what he usually used.  He’d groomed Sam often enough to know his limits—had accidentally sent him into “somewhat stoned” levels in the early days.  Now, it was intentional.  “Hey, you know that song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas?’”

“Um, think so?” Sam mumbled, already feeling the effects. 

“Well, when we start flying, I want you to start on the twelfth day in your head and sing it all the way down to ‘and a partridge in a pear tree’ for me, okay?  And we’ll be home!” 

Tiny fingers wormed their way past the buttons to brush against skin.  “Promise?”

“ **I promise, little one.** ”  Gabriel kissed his head one more time and nodded to Raphael.  The angels stood and gathered closer.  “ **Time to go home.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG--TWO MONTHS!!  
> TWO MONTHS SINCE AN UPDATE AND A LIFETIME HAS PASSED!  
> Thank you ALL for your patience. I've had several life-changing events occur including new meds and a break up (I was engaged, for those who didn't know). Now, I'm looking at moving and job searching and all kinds of FUN things.  
> But I'm still here. I'm still writing. I'm still alive!! And I want to thank ALL OF YOU for sticking with me and this series...because it has really been keeping me going through this difficult time...even when I could only write a sentence or two a day.  
> NOW, this chapter...did NOT go according to plan!! So, next chapter, we will have an interlude where we get to see EVERYTHING THAT'S BEEN HAPPENING AT THE BUNKER SINCE SAM FLEW OUTTA THERE!!! <3<3<3  
> THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!


	12. The One They Pick

_**Previously at the Bunker**  
_

The guard sat on high alert along the perimeter of the Messenger’s nest.  It was rare for both archangels to leave the premises at the same time.  But there was an important meeting tonight regarding the imminent invasion of the British Men of Letters.

Zadkiel hoped the attack was carried out soon.   His wings shuddered, remembering the grace storm that shook Heaven.  Sam’s screams were carried within, unleashed when the monsters had burned the fledgling with holy fire. 

He shook his wings out, pushing aside the morose mood.  The child was safe and relatively happy.  Sam might never be the carefree fledgling that Heaven was used to raising, but he had come a long way in a short time.  As Nuriel kept reminding them, Sam was thriving in many ways. 

 _ **We have an incoming angel,**_ Sariel’s voice rang clear through his mind.  _**It is Gabriel but he is early.  Be alert!**_

Zadkiel stood at the ready.  They weren’t expecting the archangels to return for several hours still.  For only one to return so far ahead of schedule could mean anything.

 _Stand down, dweebs,_ Gabriel said as he flew past them.  _I’m just checking on everyone.  Gotta work on building my ‘overprotective big-bro’ routine so I can out-do Dean.  You guys can chill.  I promise!_

 _ **Understood, Sir!**_ Sariel replied. 

 _Ugh!  Sariel, I told you to quit calling me that.  It makes me feel old,_ Gabriel groaned in a very undignified voice.

Zadkiel grinned at the sound.  He’d missed the Messenger’s playfulness through the centuries.  Now that he’d returned, it was a constant shock to their systems to hear him tease or whine at them in such a human way.  Sariel’s horror reverberated through their grace.

 _ **It is not disrespect if Gabriel orders it, Sariel** , _Zadkiel gently reminded her.

 _ **It is the principle of the matter,**_ she snapped back.  _**He is an archangel.  There is a clear chain of command.  He wishes me to ignore an eternity of protocol—toss it aside as though it means nothing!**_

 _ **I do not believe Gabriel has lived under our protocols for a very long time—if he ever really did to begin with,**_ Nuriel said softly. _**He was always unique among the four oldest.  Always young in spirit no matter how many eons passed.**_

Sariel’s sigh drifted across the yard.

A short time later, Gabriel left again. _**Keep them safe, angels!**_ he shouted as he flew past. 

Zadkiel watched the streak of golden grace cross the heavens and wondered at the emotion he’d heard.  He didn’t have long to ponder, however, when a second streak followed the Messenger at a slower pace—a violet-white spark that was incredibly familiar.  Terror gripped him at the sight. _**NO!**_

 _ **Stay and protect the Bunker!  Nuriel and I will follow the boy,**_ Sariel ordered, already flying. 

Alarms were sounding through his grace and he knew Castiel would have been alerted to Sam’s departure by now.  He immediately landed by the Bunker’s entrance.  However, when he reached for the door, warding burned his grace. 

 _ **Castiel!**_ he called. _**I am outside…**_

The door swung open, revealing a distraught Castiel and a cacophony of deafening noise pouring through some kind of sound system.  “Zadkiel, what is happening?” the seraph demanded.

Before he could report, Dean Winchester came sprinting to a stop next to a large table that held a map.  His hands were clasped over his ears.  “Cas!” he screamed.  “What the fuck, man!?  Is this another one of Gabe’s stupid alarms?  Did someone sneeze on his favorite mug or touch his toothbrush or what?!  Turn it off!!”

Castiel waved his hand to silence the music and pulled Zadkiel by the collar.  He stumbled across the threshold in surprise.  The wards tingled but didn’t burn now that Castiel’s grace touched his. 

“Explain,” Castiel ordered.

“Explain what, Cas?” Dean yelled up confusion.  The man wore an odd combination of sleep pants, t-shirt, combat boots, and robe.  Zadkiel had never seen those items worn together before.  “Why is nerd-angel in the bunker?  Is he the reason we got serenaded?” 

 _“_ Dean,” Castiel said in a terse voice that stopped the hunter’s rambling.  “Sam is gone.”

“Sam is what?” Dean asked, frowning.  “How can he be missing?  Gabriel was just…”

“Sam flew,” Zadkiel answered quickly.  “It appeared as though he was following Gabriel.  Sariel and Nuriel went in pursuit of him.  I was instructed to remain here to guard the nest until they return.”

“Sam flew?” Dean repeated slowly.  “My brother, Sam?  Tiny kid, has trouble walking sometimes?  Can’t fly more than a few feet across the yard?  That Sam?!”

Zadkiel glanced at Castiel and caught the small wince on the other seraph’s face.  “Yes?” he hesitantly answered. 

Dean scowled at them for a heartbeat.  Then, turned and ran back the way he came.  “Sammy!!” he bellowed.

Castiel took off after him and Zadkiel could only follow.  He was bewildered.  What were they doing?  Why was Dean yelling for his brother when they’d just informed him Sam was no longer there? 

The hunter threw a door open and barreled inside.  Zadkiel peered around Castiel.  There was a small bed with no blankets—just a twisted sheet half off the mattress and a pillow on the floor.  He guessed this was Sam’s room, although he couldn’t imagine why the fledgling slept in isolation. 

Suddenly, a cascade of voices from Heaven flooded his mind.    _ **A fledgling… in Heart Hall… Shapeshifter… Father help him… in a vessel…**_ He heard Castiel gasp and wasn’t sure if it was the volume or the message. 

Bare feet slapped through the hall behind him and Zadkiel turned to see the mother running toward them.  “Zadkiel?  What’s happening?  Is Sammy okay?”

Dean spun around, shoving Castiel to the side so he could grab Zadkiel with both hands.  “Where’s my brother, you son of a bitch?  I swear to your Dad, if you had anything to do with this, I got an entire collection of angel blades with your name on them…”

Zadkiel frowned.  Angel blades couldn’t have his name on them.  Each was unique to the angel whose grace formed it. 

 _ **Do not explain angel blades to him.**_ Castiel’s voice interrupted his thoughts.  _**He is not being literal.  It is a threat, meaning he will kill you with them.**_

 _ **Oh,**_ Zadkiel said in surprise, eyes going wide as he focused back on the hunter inches away from his face.  “I do not have your brother, Dean.  But I now know where he landed.”

“Where!?” Dean spit.

“Dean,” Castiel said, grasping the man’s wrist, “perhaps we can move to the kitchen.  I believe this will be better discussed sitting down with coffee than screamed in the hallway.”

The grip on his collar tightened and Zadkiel thought Dean wasn’t going to take Castiel’s suggestion.  But then one hand dropped.  “Fine,” the hunter grunted as he began dragging Zadkiel through the halls. 

Once in the kitchen, he was shoved into a chair.  Dean stood over him, arms crossed and muscles vibrating with tension.  Castiel and Mary took up sentry positions on either side of the hunter.  No one moved to make coffee.

“Start talking,” Dean said.

Zadkiel adjusted his shirt and nodded.  “Gabriel returned here ahead of schedule to check on things.  After he left, Sam followed.  He’s not as fast as Gabriel—far less coordinated.  Sariel and Nuriel immediately began tracking him.  I was told to remain on guard here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, waving a hand impatiently, “get to the part where you know where he landed.”

“Oh.  He,” Zadkiel glanced at Castiel who nodded, “he’s in Heaven.  And he accidentally brought Morpheus with him.”

“Excuse me?”  Dean’s voice dropped dangerously low. 

“He followed Gabriel,” Zadkiel explained.  “And Gabriel returned to Heaven.”

“So, Sam and Morpheus are with Gabriel now?” Mary asked.

 _ **Father help me—I was not made to work with fledglings!**_ Sariel’s voice rang with frustration.  _**Why is he kicking me, Nuriel?  I am only trying to get the blankets off his feet!**_

Zadkiel and Castiel winced as Sam’s voice ricocheted through their heads. _**GABRIEL!**_   _**Gabriel!  Raphael!  Castiel!  Help me—angels take me!**_ The despair and anguish in the boy’s voice made Zadkiel’s grace twist in empathy.

“What?!  What’s happening?” Dean asked frantically, his head swinging back and forth between the two angels.

Raphael’s voice boomed through the rising cries of the Host.  _**I am coming, Samuel!  Do not fear—you will be fine!**_ It didn’t seem as though Sam heard him, however—there was no response.

“Sam is not yet with Gabriel,” Zadkiel whispered through the pain in his head, “but Raphael is on his way.”  He was _not_ used to fledglings’ uncontrolled volumes.  How did Nuriel handle a room full of little ones learning to speak at once?

“What do you mean he’s not with Gabe?!  He fucking followed him!” Dean’s fists clenched at his sides in helpless rage. 

“Dean.”  Castiel stepped forward, laying a hand on the hunter’s shoulder.  “Gabriel is an archangel who has flown since before the dawn of creation.  Sam flew alone for the first time _five days ago_ —and only managed a few of feet.”

“So, he flapped all the way to Heaven without fallin’?!”  Dean started pacing.  “Is he okay?  Because he passes out for hours after a few feet here!  Jesus, what’s he gonna do when he gets to freakin’ Heaven?  Is he even conscious?”

“He is awake.  I believe he is trying to fight everyone,” Zadkiel offered, hoping that would give the worried brother some relief to know that Sam was actually quite energetic. 

“He’s what?!  _Fucking why_?!” Dean spun around to scream. 

Sam’s voice, soft and desperate, tickled the back of Zadkiel’s mind—a mix between speech and prayer.  He sounded out of breath. _Gabriel, I don’t know where we are but Morpheus is with me.  I can’t hear him anymore—I can’t hear anything.  There’s too much noise.  There are so many angels here…and grace!_

Castiel held up a hand again, frowning in concentration.  “Sam is praying to Gabriel.  He is very confused.  He does not realize he is in Heaven—just knows there are angels and grace and he cannot hear over the noise.” _  
_

Dean frowned in confusion.  “We’ve been to Heaven, Cas.  How can he not know?”

Sam’s voice drifted in again, louder this time as it was directed to an angel much closer to where Zadkiel was sitting.  _Castiel, the bunker’s been compromised!  I don’t know where I am, but two of the guard were here when I woke up surrounded by angels.  Don’t trust Zadkiel if he’s there!  Please, keep Mom and Dean safe.  And keep yourself safe, too!_

Zadkiel froze, staring wide-eyed at the other seraph.  The boy thought he was untrustworthy!  What would that do to sway the opinions of his flock?

“Cas, how…” Dean started to repeat, but Castiel cut him off.

“You were in the human portion of Heaven—as human souls.  Sam is in the Hosts’ side of Heaven as a fledgling.”  Castiel squinted back at Zadkiel.  “He likely followed Gabriel on instinct in his sleep.  He landed in a location known as Heart Hall—it appears to us as an enormous stone cavern with carved pillars.  Like a very bright ‘Mines of Moria.’”

“So?” Dean asked, finally calming down some.  He dropped into a chair across the table from Zadkiel.  “What does that mean?”

Castiel sighed and sat next to the hunter.  “Heaven is constructed out of grace, Dean.  Sam’s senses are overwhelmed from the flight and landing in the middle of the largest pool of grace he’s ever experienced.  Fledglings aren’t even taken out of our nurseries without extreme protections because of all the grace!”

“So, you’re saying Sammy flew _in his sleep_ to Heaven, woke up surrounded by angels in the middle of the worst acid trip ever, and is trying to fight his way out?” Dean stared at the seraph.

Castiel considered his words and slowly nodded.  “That is an accurate description.  He believes the angels kidnapped him.”

Zadkiel made a choking noise and felt the urge to kick Castiel under the table.  Surely his brother did not believe he had something to do with Sam’s flight!?  The seraph’s explanation so far had not indicated any deception on behalf of the angel guard but that didn’t mean he wasn’t setting him up for a fall.

Dean’s head swung around at the noise.  “Now what?!”

“Sam prayed to me,” Castiel said casually with a small smile, “to warn us that Zadkiel is possibly trying to take over the bunker.  He wanted me to keep you all safe.”

Mary sighed and moved to what Zadkiel recognized as a coffee station.  “Who wants coffee?” 

Dean and Castiel’s hands went up although they didn’t turn around.  Zadkiel tentatively raised his hand too.  He’d never had coffee before. 

Dean scowled at him.  “You gonna take over the bunker, angel-nerd?”

“No…?” Zadkiel said, hand still in the air.

“Because traitors don’t get coffee in this house,” he growled. 

Castiel snorted.  “Dean, he couldn’t even get through the front door without my help.  And I have been listening to the entire Host, including Sam, since this began.  Zadkiel is the last angel we would need to worry about infiltrating the bunker.”

“Well, then he’s the _first_ one going on my list to watch out for,” Dean muttered, leaning back with a yawn.  “It’s always the ‘last ones you should worry about’ that end up getting you.”

Zadkiel opened his mouth but no sound came out.  The roar of the Host grew deafening, their words too jumbled to make sense.  He gasped and dropped his head into his hands.

Michael’s voice suddenly carried over the din.  _**Hush, my angels.  Your noise is too much for sensitive young ears.**_ The clamor of voices fell to silence. _**Thank you.  Until further notice, I am ordering radio silence.  Emergency use only.**_

“Oh my God, what’s happening now?  Cas!?  What’s wrong?”  Dean’s voice rose in panic as he grabbed Castiel’s shoulders and then his face.  “Cas, talk to me!”

“It’s Michael,” Zadkiel managed.  “The Host was…yelling.  He told them to be quiet for Sam’s sake.  I believe Sam had tried to run and shocked several angels along the way.  With his grace.” 

Dean looked from Zadkiel to Castiel, who nodded in agreement with the assessment.  The hunter grinned.  “That’s my boy.”

Mary walked over with a tray of mugs and handed them out.  She sat next to Zadkiel, gently rubbing his back.  “Here you go.  You can add things to your coffee to make it sweet and creamy.  Just play with it until you decide you like the flavor,” she explained, holding up a small container of sugar. 

He nodded, not really understanding, and studied a scoop of the white crystals.  Foods and drinks had no flavor, just molecules—the elements that made up each substance.  And he only registered those so he could test the composition of items while in a vessel. 

Dean studied him, eyes moving in careful scrutiny.  They got to the spoon still suspended with sugar over the coffee and then rolled in exasperation.  “Yeah, you’re doing a great job seizing control, nerd.  Do you need help with the sugar or can you handle it?”

“Castiel, can you go up there?” Mary asked softly, ignoring her eldest son.  “To Sam?  I don’t understand why it’s taking so long for Raphael or Gabriel to reach him.  I mean, they’re already in Heaven.”

“I would not help the situation much,” Castiel said with a sad smile.  “I am not welcome in Heaven right now.  If I flew into the middle of Heart Hall next to our newest fledgling, I would likely start a battle.  Our siblings would believe I was there to attack Sam because they do not know his true identity and they do not trust or like me.”

“She’s got a point, though,” Dean said, finally getting a sip of his coffee.  “Why aren’t the archangels with him yet?”

“Because we cannot fly within Heaven’s walls,” Zadkiel said. 

Castiel nodded.  “It is true.  There are entrance and exit points to Heaven.  But because Heaven is made from grace, flying can damage the structure and foundations.  The only place where flight is allowed is in the training grounds where fledglings and soldiers can practice techniques safely within Heaven without damaging themselves or our home.”

 _ **Raphael!  Gabriel!!**_ Sam’s screams tore through their minds. 

Zadkiel dropped the sugar spoon into his coffee.  The hot liquid splashed across the table but he could do nothing.  He heard both members of the guard shout at the same time.

 _ **Do not let his wings extend!**_ Nuriel ordered.

 _ **He is trying to fly home!**_ Sariel yelled, giving Zadkiel a much clearer picture of what was happening.

 _“_ Don’t make me ask, Cas,” Dean said quietly.  Zadkiel saw him rubbing Castiel’s temples as the seraph was bent over in pain.  “Please?  Just tell me he’s okay.”

“Sam is safe,” Zadkiel answered, barely above a whisper.  “He… he does not believe the angels—that he is in Heaven nor that Raphael and Gabriel are on their way to him.  And he is angry because the guard will not bring him home—so he tried to fly home himself.”

Mary gasped.  “No!  That sounds dangerous!”

“It is,” Castiel said, raising his head.  His eyes were pained but they met the mother’s gaze easily.  “Sam did a lot of damage to himself flying so far.  The others had to stop him and bind his wings until Raphael reaches them for his own protection.”  He raised a hand before Dean could speak.  “Sam is unharmed.  Scared and furious, but he _is safe._ ”

Zadkiel winced when he felt the echo of Sam’s blast through his grace.  The boy had just knocked a group of angels away from him—including the Commander.  But he’d also thrown his canine companion.

 _ **Oh, Father,**_ Nuriel cried, _**Morpheus!  I cannot… it appears as though he is still breathing.  Samuel will not allow us near him.  Barachiel… oh, I think he will attempt to distract Samuel so I can heal his shifter.**_

 ** _You need to hurry, Nuriel._**   Sariel sounded pained.  **_The boy is summoning… nevermind.  He just stabbed Barachiel with an angel blade._**

Castiel grunted, his hand flying up to cover his mouth in shock. 

Zadkiel knew he wasn’t much better.  A fledgling summoning an angel blade?  How was that even possible? 

“I swear to God, if someone doesn’t say something, I’m gonna just shoot myself and go to Heaven on my own.  Gabe or Raph can resurrect me once I get Sam.”  Dean spoke in an eerily calm voice.  “Or someone can tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

“Your brother,” Castiel managed to say through clenched teeth, “just summoned an angel blade.  And stabbed a Caretaker.”

“He… what?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Summoned an—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupted with a wave.  “You mean, he did the thing that blew up the bathroom?  The thing that led to the big blow-out fight earlier tonight when the archangels learned about his sneaky side research project?  You’re saying Sam tried it _again_ , managed to actually _make one_ , and then stabbed an angel with it?”

Zadkiel stared at the hunter.  “He tried this _before?_ ” he asked, horrified.  “Sam has tried to summon a-an angel blade _before_?

“Is there an echo in here?  Yes, he tried it before!”  Dean rolled his eyes. 

“But…” Zadkiel looked to Castiel for understanding.

The seraph nodded.  “I know, brother.  We just learned of it tonight.  Rest assured, actions are being taken to prevent him from continuing these dangerous and foolish actions.”

“But he _just_ summoned one!”  Zadkiel cried.  “ _And_ stabbed Barachiel!”

“Well,” Castiel paused.  “That is true.”

“What did Bar-a… Bar-chiel do?” Mary asked with quiet worry.

“Laugh,” Zadkiel said, laughing himself.  “He’s a Caretaker though—and an odd one at that.  He reminds me of Gabriel in a lot of ways.  Playful, loud, physical.  He’s quite proud that Sam stabbed him, actually.”

Dean thumped Castiel’s chest with the back of his hand.  “I stabbed you when we first met.  It’s like the official Winchester greeting.”

A hand rested on Zadkiel’s shoulder, making him jump.  Mary leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t worry.  I think the stabbing has to be the _very_ first thing that happens.  You should be safe.  Besides, I’ve really been trying to cut down on their propensity for stabbing—strangers and each other.”  She gave a long-suffering sigh.  “I don’t know how good I’ve been though.  Not if Sam flew to Heaven and immediately started stabbing people.”

 ** _Thank Father—Raphael is here,_** Sariel relayed.  Relief flooded through Zadkiel’s grace.  He saw Castiel sag against Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

“What…” Dean started to ask but Castiel cut him off.

“Raphael has reached Sam.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mary sighed. 

“It’s about time!” Dean grumbled, but he put an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and drew him closer.  “Is he okay?”

“He…”

 _ **Raphael, what the Hell is happening?!**_ Gabriel’s voice interrupted them loudly.  _**Samuel is here—in Heaven?  What the fuck—MOVE, SERAPHS, OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER!!  Someone had better start explaining!!**_

 _ **Ahh, I see they found you.**_ Michael replied dryly.  _**I shall explain on a private channel, so your screaming does not distract Raphael.**_

“Oh my,” Zadkiel whispered.  For all of Gabriel’s dramatics, he had never witnessed the archangel in such a frantic state.  He did not envy the poor seraphs the Messenger was encountering in Heaven’s halls.

Castiel smirked.  “Gabriel is now aware of the situation and on his way to Sam as well.”

“Where’s he been?  Napping?” Dean huffed. 

“No,” Castiel said, draining his coffee.  “He was interrogating Sam’s kidnappers in Heaven’s prisons.  The cells are heavily warded so no angel radio can be transmitted in or out of that space for obvious reasons.  Guards would have needed to go in and inform him of Sam’s presence.”

Dean made a face.  “Poor guards.”

“No doubt,” Castiel agreed. 

Zadkiel drank his coffee.  It was cold now and mostly tasteless—just as he’d expected.  The sugar added a grainy texture where it hadn’t dissolved at the bottom but it didn’t taste _sweet._

“Did you like it?” Mary asked, biting her lower lip.

“It was… wet.  And crunchy,” he answered honestly. 

“No more coffee until you can taste it,” Dean said.  “You’ll just waste it all.”

“Castiel,” Mary said, collecting the empty mugs to refill them with fresh coffee, “can you teach him how to taste like Gabriel taught you?”

Castiel considered it for a moment.  “I can try.”  He stood and gathered a few items from the refrigerator and pantry.  “Humans have four main taste receptors—bitter, sour, salty, and sweet.”

Zadkiel nodded even though he didn’t quite understand.  Mary returned with the coffees.  She placed a fresh cup in front of him and he inhaled the steam.  The sensation was pleasant enough. 

Castiel laid the things out on the table in front of Zadkiel, explaining each item in turn.  “Coffee is bitter.  Lemons are sour.  Potato chips are salty.  Strawberries are sweet.  It will be easier to taste the difference if you try foods that are extremes of each.”

“Ugh, that looks disgusting,” Dean said with a shudder.  “What a terrible first meal, Cas.  Gabe made you pies and bacon!  You’re making him eat lemons and coffee and chips and berries?  You, my friend, are an asshole.”

“Well, _I_ have never taught someone how to taste with their grace before, Dean!” Castiel said, rolling his eyes in frustration.  Zadkiel wondered if that was a common gesture among all humans or just the Winchesters.  He’d seen his brother use it as often as the others in this flock.  “Besides, you thought he was infiltrating the bunker.”

“Hey!  I’m still not convinced he isn’t.”  Dean pulled the sugar and cream away from Zadkiel’s reach and glared at him.  “I’m watching you, nerd-angel.” 

 ** _Gabriel has made it here now._** Nuriel’s relief was almost tangible.  **_Although he seems to be in as much distress as Samuel—possibly just as injured too.  Sweet Father, how many angels did he plow through to get here?_**

Zadkiel choked on the piece of lemon he’d just placed on his tongue. 

“Did you taste it?!” Dean asked excitedly, no longer scowling.  “That was so fast!  Cas, you’re a great teacher.”  He slapped the seraph on the back several times in pride while Zadkiel coughed out a seed. 

“No.  I haven’t even _explained_ anything to him yet.  Nuriel interrupted before I could begin.”  Castiel frowned in what could only be considered a pout.  “Gabriel just arrived in the Hall in true ‘Gabriel fashion.’”  He made an odd gesture with his fingers that made Dean and Mary laugh.

“Let me guess—was he riding a horse?  Were there trumpets involved?”  Dean asked, breathless.

“A horse?” Mary scoffed, slapping her son’s arm.  “Where’s he gonna get a horse in Heaven?  My guess is he knocked down walls to get there—just busted through them like one of those old Bugs Bunny-Road Runner cartoons.”

“Mary is closest,” Castiel said with a nod toward the mother.  “He did use the door but he apparently did not wait for most of the angels to get out of his way between the prison and Sam’s side.  Raphael may be dealing with many injuries before returning to us.”

“Not even a little trumpet?” Dean whined. 

“No trumpets, Dean.” Castiel stared at Zadkiel.  _Do you see, brother?_

 _See what?_ Zadkiel asked, glancing around in fear that he’d missed something.

Castiel rolled his eyes again.  _What I have to put up with every day?_

“Man, no trumpets?  What’s the fucking point?” Dean grumbled as he went to rummage through the fridge. 

Instead of explaining with words, Castiel showed him using his own grace how to reach for the flavors of each food.  It was an odd way of analyzing—like perceiving colors and smells and sound, but with his grace and the tiny organ inside his vessel’s mouth.  He tried the lemon again and was shocked by the overwhelming sensation that seemed to burn his eyes and nose. 

“Ooo, I think he tasted that, Castiel!” Mary laughed. 

Castiel grinned and coated a lemon slice in sugar before handing it to Zadkiel.  “Try it again now.”

He spit what was in his mouth into a napkin, then scrubbed at his tongue with a clean part.  “I don’t know if I _want_ to taste things, brother,” he said, reaching for the slice anyway and hesitantly putting it in his mouth. 

The bitter-sour-citrus was tempered by the sweet coating of pure sugar.  It burst on his tongue in a blend of brilliant flavors he had no name for.  Chewing the fruit only mashed the pulp into the crystals more, stirring juices together in a way that delighted his senses.

“Ew, gross!  I think he likes it, Cas.  Your brother is weird.”  Dean shuddered as he watched

“Sam also likes lemons coated in sugar,” Castiel said, turning to give the hunter a pointed look.

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugged, “my brother’s weird too.”

 _I guess you and Sam can just be the ‘weird brothers’ together,_ Castiel said silently to him. 

Zadkiel felt a warmth infuse his grace at the words and wondered if his vessel was blushing.  He had heard Sam’s prayers since his human childhood—but that was not something that they had discussed.  If anything, it might come across as a violation or as simple incompetence since nothing was done to answer his prayers in the end. 

But besides that, he had nothing that connected him to the newest member of the Host.  He was not a true soldier like Sariel.  He had no experience with fledglings like Nuriel.  He was simply the angel of mercy—a voyeur of prayers in a system that had broken down centuries ago. 

 _I would like that,_ he said with a small smile.  _I have always been considered a little odd to the Host._

Castiel snorted.  _Yes, we could start a club._

_A… club?_

_A group for angels who were seen as outsiders.  We would hold regular meetings.  Perhaps wear matching t-shirts and have a slogan._ Castiel set aside the lemons and pushed the bowl of strawberries toward him.  _Try these.  They are sweet without adding sugar._

Zadkiel blinked, unsure what most of those things meant.  Slogans?  Matching t-shirts?  He reached for a strawberry and bit half of it.

The texture was completely different from the lemon.  Softer, meatier, with tiny seeds that crunched delightfully between his teeth instead of needing to be spit out.  And the sweetness was also different—not forced from a coating of crystals, but naturally found within the fruit itself.  It was already part of the flavor of this _strawberry._  

He grabbed one of the lemon pieces again and shoved it back in his mouth along with the other half of the strawberry, groaning at the combination.  Why was he only experiencing this now?  These items had been around since the dawn of time!  Some fruits and flowers had gone extinct and would never be tasted! 

“Zadkiel?” Mary asked quietly.  “Are you okay?”

He looked at her and frowned.  Why was her face blurry?  Swallowing hard, he nodded and said, “Yes?  I think so.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighed and wiped his face with a clean napkin.  “I think you’re gonna fit right in here.”

 ** _Castiel, is all well at the bunker?_** Raphael asked in concern.  **_Nuriel tells me that she has tried to keep you apprised of the situation but the task has been difficult._**

 ** _We are well, Raphael,_** Castiel answered.  **_We are eager for any solid news of Samuel’s wellbeing.  And perhaps an estimated time for your return home.  Dean is ready to storm Heaven himself to retrieve his brother._**

Dean walked over to them, a curious look on his face.  He glanced at Zadkiel with an eyebrow raised in question but said nothing.  When Zadkiel didn’t say anything, Dean rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘who’s he talking to’ while holding his hand to his face—pinky and thumb extended toward his mouth and ear. 

Zadkiel frowned, unsure of the gesture. 

“He wants to know who Castiel is talking to over angel radio,” Mary whispered. 

“Oh,” he turned back to Dean and also whispered, “it’s Raphael.  Castiel is asking for news of Sam and when they may return home.” 

“They are going to the Garden so Raphael can heal Sam for their return flight,” Castiel relayed after a moment. 

“Heal him?  Why’s he hurt?” Dean demanded to know.  “Did someone touch him?!”

“It was from his flight there, Dean—the trip wrecked his wings.  Raphael says he won’t be able to fly for a while once they return.  He’s only going to replace the protective coating and groom them into place for now.  And when he manifested the angel blade, Sam burned his palms again.”

“I swear, I’m putting that kid in a bubble.  With a helmet,” Dean muttered.

“Why would the bubble have a helmet?” Zadkiel asked.

The hunter turned so fast, coffee sloshed over the side of his mug.  “Oh no.  You did _not_ just say that.  Did he just say that?  Cas, did he…”

Castiel sighed.  “Yes, Dean.”

Dean broke out laughing.  “Oh my God, there are two of you.  He’s like you!  A mini-you from like, six or seven years ago!  Oh, he is precious.  Can we keep him?  I bet I can train him up in no time.  Forget the coffee—get this kid a beer!”

Castiel sighed again and dropped his head to the table.  _Good luck, brother.  I tried to save you from this earlier.  I am sorry I failed you._

 _Save me from what?_ Zadkiel asked nervously, glancing at the gleeful hunter. 

_From an enthusiastic Dean Winchester becoming your teacher.  It will likely be exhausting, and sometimes humiliating.  He means well.  Just don’t insult his music and you should do fine._

**_Zadkiel, are you also doing well?_** the Healer asked. 

 ** _Yes, Sir!_** he answered, trying not to jump in surprise.  The pat on his back from Mary told him he was unsuccessful. 

 ** _I know Gabriel’s flock can be a little overwhelming to those not accustomed to the Winchesters.  Dean has not tried to stab you, has he?_** Raphael sounded as though he were smiling.

 ** _There was a threat of stabbing earlier.  But I believe we have moved beyond that now._** Zadkiel grinned.  **_Castiel has taught me to taste foods with my grace!  It is amazing, Sir!  And now Dean wishes to keep me and train me, although Castiel does not seem very excited about this change in attitude._**

A deep rumbling laugh rolled through his grace.  He saw Castiel hide a grin against his arm on the table.  **_Rest assured, Castiel—no one in their right mind would ever wish to replace you at Dean Winchester’s side.  I believe that is why Father resurrected you so often—because no other being in His universe has the patience for that human!_**

Castiel snorted and kept his head buried.  **_I believe that is entirely possible.  Not that I am a being of infinite patience—I just pretend to ignore him when he gets annoying._**

 ** _Your secret is safe with me,_** Raphael said with a chuckle.  **_Please keep Dean from stabbing Zadkiel before we return.  Samuel has already stabbed Barachiel up here and I swear, I have never seen a seraph more excited to have their grace sliced open by an angel blade!_**

 ** _Well, it_ is _Barachiel,_ ** said Castiel wryly.  **_He has always been a little… wild._**

 ** _Yes.  And he has taken to Samuel quite strongly already.  If I know Gabriel, we will be returning with a fourth guard member._** Raphael gave a long-suffering sigh.  **_I shall let you know when we finish our healing in the Garden.  It should not take long.  Then, we will be on our way home._**

 ** _Good luck,_** Castiel said, rolling his head back and forth in his arm. 

“So, uhh, what else did he have to say?” Dean asked around a mouth full of potato chips.  “Cuz you two are grinnin’ and blushin’ like a couple of school kids over here.  I think Cas might actually start giggling soon.”

Castiel raised his head and took a deep breath.  “I have been charged with the task of keeping Zadkiel unstabbed until the others return.  Especially in light of Sam’s stabbing spree up in Heaven.  Raphael wishes to keep the Winchester-angel stabbing tally down to just the one.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed on Zadkiel, but this time it felt more playful.  “We’ll see.  How’s your takeover plans going?”

“It depends,” Zadkiel gave him a slight smile.

“Oh, yeah?  Oh what?” Dean asked, chin lifted in challenge.

“On how much food you have left.  Are there more strawberries?  I really like these!”  He held out the mostly empty bowl as he threw another two into his mouth. 

Dean blinked at him, then rolled his eyes.  “Oh gods, Gabriel’s gonna love you.  If he comes home to an empty pantry…”  He trailed off, grabbing the mostly empty bowl and searching through the refrigerator for more fruits. 

“Then he’ll be delighted to go on another market run to feed more mouths who appreciate his cooking,” Castiel finished for the hunter.  He pushed the coffee mug to Zadkiel.  “Try this plain first, then we can add sugar and cream to your liking.”

Zadkiel nodded and tasted it.  The warm drink provided a completely new experience this time.  It was not as bitter as he’d expected—not like the lemon.  But it held other flavors as well that were nothing like fruit—smoke and earth and other things he had no name for yet.  “I like it.  It is not what I expected.”

“Let’s try adding some things to it one at a time, okay?” Mary said excitedly.  She got the sugar and creamer back from Dean’s side of the table, adding a small spoonful to his drink.  “It helps if you stir it in while the coffee’s still hot enough to dissolve it—then you won’t get crunchy coffee.”  She winked at him with a grin. 

He took another sip, delighted by the change in flavor.  Who knew how complex human senses could be?  Everything was different from so small a change!  “I like it much better with sugar.”

“Well, then you may like it even more with cream,” Mary said, stirring in thick white liquid from a small pouring jar.  “This is called ‘half-and-half’ because it is half milk and half cream.  Very good for coffee!” 

Zadkiel watched the black liquid swirl into tan and umber.  Once the colors had blended completely, he took another sip.  His eyes closed on their own as a third, even more amazing, flavor overtook him.  The cream enhanced the sweetness and tempered the bitterness to create an entirely new concoction. 

Blinking back moisture from his vessel’s eyes, he peered down at the mug in sheer awe and joy.  How could so many possibilities be contained in so small a thing?  No wonder humans indulged in food and drink so often—it was delightful!

“Just wait until he learns there’s _flavored_ creamers and coffees,” Dean whispered loudly to Castiel.  Zadkiel’s head shot up to look at the hunter but found him grinning in a proud way.  “Oh, yeah.  Flavored coffee, flavored creamer, flavor syrups added to fancy coffees made with steamed milk and brewed with shots of espresso.  That’s not even getting into the other forms of coffee like iced or frapped.  Now me?  I like it strong and black and plain.  Occasionally with a shot of whisky in it.”

 _That’s a lie,_ said Castiel with a silent sigh.  _Well, not about the whisky.  But he does like to sneak sugar into his coffee when no one is looking.  It does not change the color so everyone still thinks he’s drinking black coffee.  He believes it will ruin his ‘badass’ reputation if the others know he enjoys sweet coffee._

Zadkiel grinned.  _I won’t tell a soul._  

 _Or an angel, for that matter,_ Castiel amended. _He would pout—for weeks.  Possibly months.  I do not have the energy nor the patience right now._

For the next hour, the Winchesters and Castiel bided their time making him try various foods they found in the kitchen.  Most of them he enjoyed immensely.  Especially things that were dual flavors like sweet and salty, or sweet and bitter, or sweet and sour.  As long as sweetness was part of the combination, he was completely on board.

Some items created fights—especially things Dean picked.  “What do you mean, ‘no?!’” he asked in outrage.

“Unless _you_ are willing to eat an entire clove of garlic right here in this kitchen, Dean Winchester, then put it _back!_ ” Mary ordered, one hand on her hip with the other one outstretched and pointing toward the pantry shelves. 

Dean stood there, contemplating the merits of eating a clove of garlic if it meant making someone else do it too. 

“Do not make me start counting, mister!” she warned.

The hunter made a face and sprinted for the pantry. 

 _What does counting mean?_ Zadkiel asked his brother silently.

Castiel gave him a small grin.  _It is a thing parents do to warn their children.  There are consequences if they reach the end of their count and the order was not completed._

 _What kind of consequences?_ he asked, eyes wide as he glanced at the tiny fierce mother. 

_With Mary?  Likely a tickle attack that would leave Dean in humiliating tears.  She knows all his weak spots._

_And other parents or children besides Mary or Dean?_ he asked, curious about how human families worked. 

Castiel frowned.  _I am not certain about all other parents and children.  I know that some utilize systems of time-outs, sitting in corners or chairs.  Some lose privileges like television or playtime.  Others turn to physical forms of punishment._

 _You mean like hitting?_   Zadkiel had received many prayers for mercy from children in his lifetime.  They broke him over and over.  It was a helplessness he had no words to describe.

 _I do, but that is not what happens in this nest!_  Castiel’s voice was very firm.  _You will learn over time that Sam and Dean were both raised by a father who used physical and emotional violence to ensure their obedience.  We are all very aware of the scars he’s left on them—and are doing our best to make sure that is never a cycle they live through again._

“There!  I put the garlic away.  Are you happy!?”  Dean asked loudly, throwing his hands into the air as he returned to the kitchen. 

“Ecstatic,” Mary said dryly.  “Now, why don’t we do something besides shove random food down Zadkiel’s throat.  At this rate, we’ll have nothing left for breakfast when they return.”

“And Gabriel will _not_ wish to leave the bunker for any reason once he returns,” Castiel said with a grimace.

“What?  Why?  He loves doing market runs through ancient times.”  Dean frowned as he grabbed a fresh cup of coffee.

Zadkiel stared between the two of them.  Did the hunter know so little of angel traditions or how grace worked?  Did he understand at all what this trip would have done to his brother’s grace?  Or the steps Gabriel would need to take to ensure his safety for the trip back?  Was it _not_ obvious?

Apparently, it was not.

“There are some things you should know,” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, “before they return.”

“Uh huh.”  Dean sipped his drink.  “Can you make that sound _more_ ominous?  Because right now it’s just at the level of ‘your brother has accidentally gotten betrothed to someone’ scary.  And I think you can do better.”

“Perhaps we should sit somewhere comfortable for this?” Castiel suggested.

“Now, see, the last time that was said, Sam had flown himself into Heaven and no one wanted to tell me without coffee nearby.”  Dean took a step back and shook his head.  “I dunno if I can handle something worse.  How comfy are we talking?  Do I need pillows to clutch?  Blankets?  Is a cushy chair good enough?”

“How about the movie room?” Mary offered, yawning.  She glanced at the clock on the microwave.  “It’s almost two in the morning.  We can at least sit somewhere nicer than these kitchen chairs.”

“Fine,” Dean conceded with a huff.  He drained his mug and refilled it before stalking out into the hall. 

Mary sighed.  “He is going to be _so_ grumpy tomorrow if Sam doesn’t get home soon.  I think I’m gonna make everyone take a nap.  Angels included,” she added over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

 _There is no use arguing,_ Castiel said, shaking his head before Zadkiel could say anything.  _Besides, laying down to rest is quite pleasant._

 _I do not believe Sariel will allow “naptime” among the guard,_ Zadkiel said with a shy smile. 

 _She has never had Mary Winchester order her to take one before._   Cas smirked back.

Zadkiel stared after his brother who simply followed the path Dean and Mary had already taken.  _Are humans always this odd?  Or are the Winchesters unique?_

 _Humanity is filled with unique quirks.  Each person or family may have their own patterns of behavior that have developed through lifetimes and generations.  But the Winchesters are their own category of odd._ Castiel slowed down until they were side-by-side.  _I have never met anyone like them in all my existence—human, angel, demon, or other creature._

Zadkiel nodded slowly in understanding.  He had limited experience with other beings outside of Heaven except listening to the prayers of faceless humans.  But even he could tell the Winchesters were a rare sort.

 ** _We shall soon be done with the healing here,_** Raphael’s voice interrupted their thoughts.  **_Samuel’s grace is in a terrible state.  It will need continuous care for a while after we return. And a new routine from now on._**

 ** _Is this from the flight?_** Castiel asked, concerned.

There was a moment of hesitation from the Healer.  **_Not entirely.  I believe we have neglected to care for Samuel’s grace because we have been so focused on the adult aspects of his mind.  Sleeping in isolation, only reluctantly allowing grooming once a day, not remaining in contact with other angels and grace unless in training—his grace is malnourished and desperate for affection._**

The seraphs both grimaced in the hallway at the mental picture.  Fledglings were always kept bundled in layers of grace—their own, the Caretakers’, and each other’s.  They never spent a moment separated from it.  It was unimaginable for a fledgling to isolate himself from grace for any amount of time, let alone long enough to become malnourished!

 ** _Is he… alright?_** Castiel asked. 

 ** _He will be,_** Raphael answered confidently.  **_Gabriel has already removed my own layers of protections so he can smother the child in his own grace.  Samuel is very confused by the affection and love coming from Gabriel—but it is what he has needed on a daily basis.  And now that we are aware of the problem, we will make sure he receives it._**

 ** _That… that will go a long way to allaying some of the fears Samuel has been having.  Fears we just learned about this evening after you left.  If we can convince him that these are not passing emotions—that this is how we all feel about him all the time—then perhaps he can settle down._**   Castiel sighed, remembering the boy’s frantic face trying to explain how he was going to be left all alone one day.  Not a fear—a certainty.

 ** _Yes, this fear of being abandoned by us all in the next century or two—well before he has reached adulthood?_** Raphael asked.

 ** _He told you his concerns?_**   Castiel’s eyes went wide in surprise as he stopped walking. 

 ** _No.  He told us the dream he had that led him to following Gabriel back to Heaven._** Raphael sounded tired and sad.  **_Rest assured, Castiel.  We will not allow these fears to continue unaddressed.  Nor will Gabriel allow his fledgling to starve himself under some misguided notion that he “does not need it.”_**

 ** _That is… good.  Though I will also be interested in seeing how he plans to carry out this new routine._**   Castiel glanced at Zadkiel who shrugged in bewilderment. 

 ** _Very carefully,_** Raphael chuckled.  **_I believe we are finished here.  Give us a few minutes to return to Heart Hall and then prepare Samuel for the flight—oh.  Hold on.  We may be delayed.  I believe Robert Singer has just arrived in the Garden.  As much as I wish to get Samuel home, Robert may be just the face he needs to see right now.  I will give you another update when we leave the Garden._**

“Oh man,” Castiel whispered.  “If Bobby’s there, we may never see Sam again.”

“Who’s Bobby?” Zadkiel asked, completely confused by all the information he’d received. 

“Father figure to the Winchester brothers.”

“A human?” Zadkiel almost yelled in surprise.  “A human in the Garden?  Is that possible?”

“Anything’s possible with Bobby.”  Castiel shrugged.

“Fucking _move,_ nerds!!” Dean’s voice echoed down the hall.  “What the hell is taking so long?  Did you get lost?  Or is Zadkiel actually trying to take over the bunker now?  I swear to God, if Zadkiel is trying a takeover, I’m getting my angel blade right the fuck now…”

Dean appeared at the door to the movie room, red faced and huffing.  The seraphs stood less than a foot from him in the hall.  Zadkiel put his hands up in surrender. 

“Still not taking over!” he promised.

“We were receiving an update from Raphael,” Castiel explained as he pushed past Dean in the doorway. 

“Oh?” Dean’s demeanor completely changed, softening into the worried brother.  “How’s Sammy doing?  Are they gonna be home soon?”

“They just finished healing the mess he made of his grace from the flight.  But Sam’s got some… issues,” Castiel said carefully.  “Let’s all sit down, okay?”

“Man, don’t say things like that,” Dean groaned.  “You make it sound terminal.”

“I mentioned earlier that there were things you should know before they return,” Castiel started as they all took their seats.  “Raphael has only confirmed these things for me—and possibly increased them to a much greater degree than I’d originally anticipated.”

“Quit talking in riddles, Cas!” Dean said, throwing a pillow at the seraph.

“The flight alone would be both terrifying and painful for Sam at his age.  When an angel goes between time and space, there is no air or heartbeat.  Only your grace propels your vessel—the vessel itself is frozen.  Sam would have remained in that state for what felt like days or weeks before reaching Heaven, and it would have stripped his grace raw by the time he landed.”

“Oh my god,” Mary gasped, grabbing Dean’s hand. 

Castiel nodded. “Raphael and Gabriel have done what they can to layer protections over Sam’s grace for the return flight, but it will still be incredibly difficult.  Now that he has wings, Sam experiences flight like those flying—not like you do as humans.  It is no longer instant.  Even if he is not directing the flight, even if he is being protected and guided by two archangels, he will still feel every moment in between time and space.”

Dean’s face turned grey as he clutched his mother’s hand tightly.  “So, he can’t breathe or move or…”

“Exactly.  It is already highly stressful to him making trips around the yard.  It will likely take him a while to recover from this flight—physically and emotionally.”

“There is a reason we keep fledglings in our nurseries in Heaven.”  Zadkiel took a seat on the other side of Mary.  “Their grace is highly sensitive to everything it comes in contact with.  They are never taken flying so young—and certainly never out of Heaven to other dimensions such as Earth!  Of course, no fledgling has ever had wings at Sam’s age.”

“So, you’re saying that Sam’s gonna be a mess when he gets home?” Dean asked in a rough voice.

“Not just Sam,” Castiel clarified. 

“What do you mean?” asked Mary, rubbing Dean’s back with her other hand and pulling him closer. 

“Gabriel is considered the leader of this flock.  That is a title not taken lightly among angels.  We are all _his—his_ responsibility, _his_ to protect, _his_ to nurture.  Sam is _his fledgling_ who is now in crisis.”  Castiel took a deep breath.  “Which means part of Gabriel is in crisis too.  Instincts will have him saturating Sam with his grace.  Normally, neither of them would have physical form—a fledgling would be fully immersed within their Caretaker.  That is not possible for Sam and Gabriel.  And knowing Sam, it will likely be a struggle.”

“Why?” Dean demanded.

“Do you remember Sam’s reaction to the grace wrap the night Raphael first healed him?”

Dean shuddered.  “Yeah.”

“It’s much more intense and invasive than that.  Gabriel’s grace will literally be holding Sam on the inside—not just wrapped around his physical body.  The archangels will want to protect him as much as possible for this flight and they can’t do that with a simple muffling layer around his skin.”  Castiel looked down at the floor.  “Sam has been… struggling with letting us near him these last few weeks.  I do not know the reason why.  I assumed it was because he did not like being touched by grace so much.  But much of his mood swings are likely because his grace _needs_ to be touched.”

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

“Like any infant, touch is required to stimulate and soothe.  It is an even greater need for fledglings.  Angels do not require food or air or water to grow, but we do require the grace of others.  That is how fledglings are nourished.”

“And Sam is… not doing that?” Dean frowned, trying to follow.

“Raphael says Sam’s grace is actually considered malnourished from lack of interaction,” Castiel admitted.

“How is that possible?” Mary wiped tears from her cheeks.  “I mean, you all interact with him constantly every day.”

Castiel nodded.  “I know it seems that way.  But our interactions are mostly on the physical level.  The only time he allows us to touch his grace is during lessons or grooming.  And that is likely insufficient to what fledglings require at this stage in development.  I do not know exactly—I was never a Caretaker.”

“It is true,” Zadkiel agreed.  He had spent many hours discussing this very topic with a frustrated Nuriel since their assignment to the guard.  “Fledglings spend every moment wrapped in grace for the first several centuries of their existence.  It isn’t until adulthood that the layers are slowly peeled back so an angel can begin their specialized training.  And even then, we remained close to those in our garrisons or flocks.  Heaven is made of grace—there is no avoiding it.”

“Oh,” Dean breathed, shaking his head, “Sam’s gonna _love_ this.  He already throws fits if you pick him up or ruffle his hair too much.  Imagine constant hugging.”

“It is more comparable to feeding him since grace nourishes on a fundamental level,” Castiel pointed out.

“Awesome,” Dean said sarcastically.  “Because getting Sam to eat is _so_ much easier.”

“You said that Gabriel would be just as bad as Sam when they return,” Mary reminded them quietly.  “What can we expect?  What… what can we _do?_  Or not do, for that matter?”

Castiel sat back against the cushions and rubbed his brow in concentration.  “Honestly, I will not know what we are dealing with until I see them.  But I imagine they will appear… clingy.  Gabriel may even act territorial over Sam and not want others approaching him right away until he is certain the boy is safe and settled after the flight.  Everyone will be riding on instincts that have been buried since before humanity’s existence.”

“So, be patient and don’t rush up to them when they get back,” Mary offered as a condensed version of advice. 

“Yes, thank you.”  Castiel smiled in relief.  “We will need to give them all space and allow Gabriel and Sam to dictate how things go in the beginning.”

“Can’t they just knock him out for the flight?” Dean asked.  “I mean, flying sucks no matter how it’s done.  But does he _have_ to be awake for it?  Especially if he can’t breathe or move or anything.”

“I do not believe that is advisable for several reasons.”  Castiel frowned.  “It is one thing to put the mind to sleep—but grace does not sleep.  The youngest part of Sam would remain aware through the entire process but no longer have his older part conscious alongside to help process what is happening.  Secondly, Sam is very against being put to sleep so things can be done to him.  He would rather stay conscious through a terrible procedure than remain unaware of what is being done to him.”

Dean winced.  “Yeah.  I get that.”

 ** _Zadkiel.  Castiel.  We are leaving the Garden now._**   Raphael sounded exhausted.  **_However, we are making a detour to the nursery first._**

Both seraphs frowned at each other.  That seemed like a very odd choice.  And terrible timing for a tour. 

“What’s going on?” Dean whispered.

Castiel held up a hand, asking him to wait.  **_Is everything well?_**

 ** _Samuel is… fighting Gabriel.  He does not believe he is in need of comfort and is therefore holding his grace away from Gabriel.  There is a lot of pent up rage in both his adult mind and the infant grace—and they are fighting each other for control._** Raphael sighed.  **_Gabriel will need to work him through this before we can fly home._**

 ** _Understood,_** Castiel answered with a grimace.  “There may be a delay in their return,” he said to the room.

“What?  Why?” Dean and Mary asked together.

“Raphael says that Sam is holding his grace away from Gabriel.  He is fighting the need for comfort—both his own need to receive it and Gabriel’s need to give it.  They will not be able to fly safely until he is adequately protected, so they are stopping to address this issue somewhere private.”

“You have private places in Heaven?” Dean asked, stunned by all the new information.

“They are taking him to one of our nurseries,” Zadkiel explained. 

“Oh my God,” Dean whispered.  “Did anyone take a camera?”

Castiel scowled.  “This is serious, Dean.”

“I know.  Sammy’s just been taken to his first nursery in Heaven.  It’s one for the scrapbooks!” Dean stood up from the couch.  “We could blow it up and put it over a mantle.  Do we even have a mantle in the bunker somewhere?  What do nurseries in Heaven _look_ like?  I mean, human nurseries usually have cartoon characters and soft colors… sometimes even baby angels.  Oh my God, do you paint baby angels on your walls?  But like, little balls of light so they look really stupid?”

 “Dean.”  Castiel stood as well and placed a hand on the hunter’s shoulder.  “He will be back soon.”

Zadkiel watched in silence, not understanding Dean’s rambling or jokes to be signs of concern.  But Castiel’s words had an immediate effect on the human—his shoulders dropped, the manic glee fell away to reveal a desperate worry, and tears filled the man’s eyes. 

“But Cas, he’s so far away.  And he’s fucking scared, man.”  Dean’s voice broke as his breath caught on a sob.  “He’s gonna act tough because that’s what we were trained to do—no crying, no whining, no pity.  Suck it up and fight through it.  He’s not even gonna know what to _do_ with Gabe being all lovey-dovey with him.  Nurseries are for _babies,_ Cas!  That’s just gonna make him fight harder to prove he’s _not_ one.”

“I know that this change has been hard to comprehend for everyone.  Sam’s retained his adult memories and therefore insists on being treated as a human adult.  However,” Castiel turned and paced around the ottomans, “the fact is, Sam _is_ a baby by angel standards.  Having adult memories of almost two centuries of trauma only complicates matters.” 

Zadkiel nodded.  “Nuriel has mentioned the same thing quite often.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Dean turned to Zadkiel.  “What does Mary Poppins angel have to say?”

“That…” a quick glance at Castiel told him _not_ to ask or say anything about the unknown reference in the hunter’s question, “Sam has a whole set of needs that are not being fulfilled because he refuses to see himself as an angel child.”

“And how _does_ Sam see himself?” Dean asked with a mocking edge.

“He sees himself as an adult human who has been de-aged physically to a six-year-old.  And the grace is simply a thing that gives him abilities.  Perhaps he sees it as a ‘good’ version of the demon blood.  But he does not see grace as the equivalent to a soul—as being the core spiritual essence of his person.  Because it _is_.”  Zadkiel stood up as well and slowly walked up to Dean.  “Sam _is_ his soul, which _is_ now melded with grace.  And that grace _is_ an infant.  It is not something he can pull out for training and push aside the rest of the time.”

Dean scrubbed at his face and cleared his throat.  “That’s great.  Has anyone told _Sam_ that yet?”

“I believe that is what Gabriel is discussing with him now,” Castiel said softly.

“In the nursery,” Dean said.

“Yes.”  Zadkiel nodded.

“Awesome,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.  “So, setting aside the idea that my brother doesn’t return until he’s fully grown again, what are we looking at here timewise?  A few hours?  A few days?”

 ** _How are things going?_** Zadkiel asked the guard. 

 ** _Gabriel and Samuel took only Morpheus into the nursery with them.  I cannot tell you how long they will take._** Nuriel sounded nervous. **_I must assume they are making progress.  Gabriel made us wait by the door and he has not returned to indicate a change in plan._**

 ** _They did not take Raphael with them?_ ** Castiel asked, tilting his head in concentration.

 ** _No, they did not!_** Raphael huffed.  **_I am to ‘stand guard.’  As though all of Heaven may rush to the nursery upon learning Samuel is in there!_**

 ** _Not too outlandish, really,_** Barachiel pointed out with a laugh.  **_I would certainly find an air vent to climb through to get a peek at the new baby._**

 ** _You were also excited Samuel stabbed you!_** Nuriel scolded quietly.

 ** _Are you thinking you will return tonight, then?_** Zadkiel checked, just in case.

 ** _I certainly hope so!_** Raphael snorted.  **_Father knows what Heaven would do with Samuel in it any longer than necessary.  There are only so many angels left for him to stab—and I fear Gabriel may be next on his list._**

 ** _Gabriel is a fine Flock Alpha,_** Zadkiel reassured with a slight smile.  **_I trust his abilities against a two-month-old fledgling any day._**

 ** _You_ have _met Samuel Winchester, have you not?_** Raphael asked wryly. 

 ** _Aww, that child loves Gabriel._**   Zadkiel grinned at Castiel who rolled his eyes.

Raphael laughed sharply.  **_He loves Dean as well, but that does not stop them from stabbing each other.  And Samuel is usually more often victorious.  He may be tiny but he has speed._**

 ** _I will take that under advisement.  And shall pass along the good news to the anxious humans here._**  He saw Mary stand out of the corner of his eye, as though sensing the conversation coming to a close.  “The plan still stands on them coming home tonight.”

“Hey, if Gabe’s gonna be super cling like Velcro, does that mean we get to move back into the big room again?”  Dean beamed at Castiel, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. 

Castiel squinted at him.  “I am unsure what his plans would be for tonight, but I do anticipate him quickly moving Sam back into the communal bedroom, yes.”

“Should we get it ready?  In case they need it tonight?”  Dean shrugged like it wasn’t important but his giant smile betrayed him.

“The room has remained ready every night, Dean.  Gabriel kept it prepared in case Sam ever wished to return.”  Castiel smiled fondly.  “But I understand your eagerness.  It will be nice to have everyone together again.”

“Oh, man.  Cas, what are we gonna do until they get back?  I’m gonna crawl out of my skin here!”  Dean bounced on his feet again. 

“Perhaps we should go outside and wait for them?”  Castiel turned to Zadkiel.  “We can introduce my brother to the relaxing art of making puffy white sacrifices on sticks.”

“You… what?” Zadkiel gulped.  An archangel’s flock made sacrifices?  That did not sound right.

“Ooo, good idea!”  Dean clapped Zadkiel on the shoulder and dragged him joyfully from the room.  “How did Gabe describe it again?  We roast the sacrifices over the fire, and then place them over the dark substance that liquifies between two baked squares.  Come on, nerd angel—you’ll love it!”

Zadkiel let himself be led back to the kitchen.  He watched as the others gleefully gathered what appeared to be food items into a basket along with several beers.  Mary tried to pat his arm reassuringly, but all he could think about was how he might explain performing sacrifices to Sariel when she returned. 

It was almost three in the morning.  Dean and Mary collected their jackets and hats before going out into the cold.  Frost covered the grass, making it sparkle in the moonlight and crunch under their steps. 

The fire blazed as always within the stone pit.  Heat saturated the air without dissipating into the night sky above—a trick of Gabriel’s, certainly.  Castiel arranged the blankets and pillows for the four of them. 

Dean wasted no time in explaining the intricacies of “marshmallow sacrifices.”  He showed Zadkiel how to spear the puffy ball of sugar on the metal stick and the various methods for cooking it over the fire.  The hunter’s tone remained solemn, as though he were passing on sacred ritual instead of a campfire tradition.

Zadkiel felt a memory stir within his own vessel.  Sleeping under the stars with other young boys—all wearing matching uniforms with various badges.  Telling stories to thrill across the flames.  Settling down into songs as the night wore on. 

“Do you sing?” he asked Dean as he watched the white confection turn golden brown. 

“Uh, like in general?” the human shot back in surprise.

“My vessel was once something called a ‘scout.’  They would camp and sing around the fire,” he said, gazing into the pit without answering.  “We would also sing in Heaven quite often.  So many old hymns—unheard in our halls now for thousands of years.”

“Okay, Gimli,” Dean said, clapping him on the back.  “If you wanna sing _Kumbaya_ , then be my guest.”

“I do not think I know that song,” Zadkiel said.  “But I will sing one of our learning songs if Castiel joins me.”

“What?” Castiel asked, startled.  “No, brother, I have not sung in…”

“Oh, please, Castiel?  It has been ages since we have sung together.  Not since the end of my training days, at least,” Zadkiel pleaded.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean encouraged with a grin.  “I bet you have a lovely singing voice.”

“Fine,” Castiel snapped.  “Just… contain yourself.”

Zadkiel took a deep breath and began his personal favorite hymn— _The Year of the Tree._   He was pleased to find his vessel’s voice was a high treble.  It matched his grace perfectly.

**“Life and song encircle us with the winds of Spring,**   
**flashing our green leaves in the sun**   
**and surrounding us with the lyrics of birds.**   
**We are both nurturing mother and newborn infant.**   
**We awaken from our deep sad sleep,**   
**reborn with the growing sun.”**

Castiel joined in for the second verse, his bass adding a steady rolling depth to Zadkiel’s higher tones.  The seraph flushed, keeping his eyes averted to the blanket for most of the song.  But his grace swirled in joy and hummed along. 

**“The heavy heat of summer infuses our core**   
**with a child-like joy.**   
**We dance rejuvenated**   
**in warm rains and**   
**talk quietly with the moon.**   
**All things are possible**   
**and the world is our companion.**

**“But the sun grows old**   
**and we feel ourselves start to change.**   
**We are ablaze with color—**   
**a final burst of brightness before the long sleep of winter.**   
**The color fades and we grow mellow and cold.**   
**The world becomes dark around us**   
**and we shiver naked in the Fall.**   
**Our roots burrow deeper,**   
**clinging desperately to Earth and life,**   
**fearing the time ahead.**

**“Winter is death.**   
**The world is full of ice and pain.**   
**We close our eyes and hold our breath.**   
**No one hears our cries,**   
**so, we go to sleep.**   
**Only our roots remain—**   
**buried below the frozen ground**   
**and praying for the return of Spring.”**

The notes lingered in the air, echoing into the trees and stars.  Zadkiel felt the forest sigh to hear their song voiced by angels once more.  The woods _should_ be sung their own hymns—they were some of the earliest teachers to the Host. 

“How—” Dean started, then cleared his throat.  “How have I never heard you sing before, Cas?”

Castiel shrugged.  “I am sure you’ve heard me hum along to some tune on the radio at some…”

“No,” Dean cut him off quietly.  “I mean sing like _that_.  Like you did just now.  I’ve never heard that sound come out of you before this moment.”

“I guess… it’s been hard to find reasons to sing,” Castiel gave the hunter a soft smile, “until recently.”

 ** _We are heading once again for Heart Hall,_** Nuriel’s voice said quietly.   ** _From there, we will fly back to the bunker soon._**

 ** _How are they?_** Zadkiel asked, worried for Sam.  A fledgling had never been flown from Heaven before.  And one had certainly never flown _into_ Heaven from Earth on their own.

 ** _Shaken.  Emotional.  I do not know what all was said or done inside the nursery, but I believe it likely delved into some deeply personal subjects for both of them.  However, Samuel is now allowing Gabriel’s grace to fully swaddle him from the inside.  We can fly back safely._** The Caretaker sounded shaken herself.  And exhausted. 

 ** _We are all outside by the fire,_** Zadkiel let her know.  **_Safe travels, sister._**

“Is everything okay?” Mary asked, laying a hand on his elbow. 

Zadkiel smiled.  “They are walking back to Heart Hall right now and shall return here soon.”

“Really!?”  Mary sat up in excitement. 

“Really,” Zadkiel reassured.

“And Sammy’s okay?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel for answers. 

“Sam is emotional but has allowed Gabriel to do what is needed to get him home safely,” Castiel said carefully.

“Uh huh,” Dean squinted at him.  “So, you’re saying he’s a wreck.”

“Yes.”  Castiel nodded.

“Good to know.  We’ll try not to tackle them as they land.”  Dean stood and stretched.  Then, stashing their supplies back into the basket.

“I would _highly_ recommend _not_ tackling anyone when they land,” Castiel said, grabbing the hunter’s shoulder.  “Gabriel may accidentally smite you.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “I’m not gonna tackle them, Cas.  Chill.  I have a few self-preservation instincts left.”

 ** _We are leaving now,_** Raphael informed them. 

Castiel stood up and turned toward the yard.  “They’re on their way,” he said simply.  The others turned in anticipation as well.

Zadkiel saw them approach.  The two archangels were easy to make out—Sam’s tiny light stashed inside of Gabriel’s golden glow.  And _three_ seraphs surrounding them?   There was not time to wonder who the newcomer might be.  Within seconds, the air was filled with the sound of wings. 

All eyes immediately went to Gabriel, including those who just landed. 

The archangel unzipped his jacket until Sam’s head appeared.  The boy’s eyes were closed, his face lax against Gabriel’s chest.  “Come on, Sammy, open your eyes,” Gabriel muttered, kneeling down on the grass.  “Let me know you’re okay in there.”

Zadkiel saw the golden glow of grace diminish slightly as Gabriel eased it back.  Raphael was frowning, slowly edging closer with Morpheus and whispering to his brother.  The others also looked worried.

Gabriel ripped the zipper all the way down and pulled Sam around in his arms so he laid across his lap.  “Sam Winchester, I know you like to forget some of your senses after flying, but breathing is _not_ one of them!”  He rubbed harshly across the boy’s chest.  “And I don’t care how stoned I made you, we’re back on Earth and you have to breathe air here.”

Dean slowly walked past the still figures, ignoring the frantic whispers of Castiel and Mary.  “Gabriel,” he said softly, keeping his hands out in a non-threatening manner, “can I help?”

Gabriel looked up, eyes flashing at the intruder, but then he nodded.  “Hey, Deano,” he rasped.  “It’s been a rough night.  The flight… he can’t breathe in between and I doped him up on grace…”

“It’s okay,” Dean said gently.  “Can I try something?  It’s a human thing—brains and bodies are funny.”

“Yes, yes!” Gabriel nodded eagerly.  “Please!”

Dean crouched next to them.  He pinched Sam’s nose, tilting the boy’s head back, and blew firmly into his mouth.  Sam’s chest expanded and there was an immediate explosion of coughing.

Sam twisted upright in Gabriel’s lap, narrowly missing Dean with a fist.  “ **I no like!  No!  Fuck you!** ” he gasped as tears began pouring down his cheeks.  “ **That song… song…** that song sucks!  It had almost fifty verses and I didn’t know any of them except that one about the goddamn rings!  And what the fuck does twenty-six pied pipers piping mean?  Are they playing a flute or an organ or are they smoking a pipe?”

“Whoa dude,” Dean said with a laugh.  “What kind of magic mushrooms did Gabe give you before you tripped back to Earth, huh?  Take a deep breath, Sam.  No one’s smoking any pipes.”

“Almost fifty verses!?  You’ll have to sing them to me sometime.”  Gabriel laughed, kissing the boy’s forehead despite the angry fists that kept aiming for his face and chest.  “Now settle down before you punch your brother.  Come on, relax and breathe.”

Sam buried his face against Gabriel’s shirt and took a ragged breath through his sobs.  The archangel just rubbed his back and whispered encouragements to him as the boy slowly calmed down.  He did not seem startled by Sam’s emotional outburst—but the rest of the onlookers certainly were. 

“Is he okay?” Dean whispered.

“Oh, yeah.  He’s fine.”  Gabriel nodded.  “Just coming down off the grace-rush.  Like I said, it’s been a rough night.  It’ll take a while for him to regain his equilibrium—days, maybe a few weeks even.”

“Well, I can deal with a weepy Sammy,” Dean smirked, running his hands through the boy’s hair.  “Ain’t that right, little brother?  We’re all about the chick-flick moments in this family.”

Sam turned toward him, catching the hunter’s hand before it was pulled away.  “Dean?” he asked between hiccups.

“Yup.”

“Are… are you dead?”  Sam blinked several times, trying to clear the tears from his eyes.

“Uh, don’t think so.  Why?  Do I look that bad?”

Sam turned back to Gabriel in confusion.  “Are we…?”

“We’re back at the bunker, kiddo,” Gabriel said softly.  “Your mom and Cassie are standing by the fire, waiting for their turn to rush over here and check on you.  Dean doesn’t wait for turns, of course.”

Sam swung his head back toward his brother.  “Dean?!”

“That’s me!”  Dean grinned, leaning down to hug the boy as another round of fresh tears began.  “Oh man, we’re getting weepy Sam in full-force!  It’s cool, little bro.  You made it home.  I’d be weepy too if I had to fucking fly through dimensions.  You know me—I don’t even like planes!”

“I didn’t mean to leave!” Sam cried into Dean’s collar.

“Dude, I know.  Who plans to fly off in their sleep?  No one!”  Dean leaned back and wiped his brother’s face with his sleeves.  “Now, calm down so we can go inside and duct tape you to a bed and get some real sleep, okay?” 

“I don’t think the duct tape will be necessary,” Gabriel laughed.  “I’ll be keeping him tethered to me for the foreseeable future—especially when he’s asleep!”

“I told you’d need one of those kid harnesses.”  Dean stood up and offered a hand to the archangel who slapped it away with another laugh.  “And angel baby gates!  The kid fell up a tree on day, like, two or three.  We’re gonna need to put up some nets or something.”

“Oh, that’s why we brought Barry!  He’s our newest guard member.”  Gabriel stood, wrapping his jacket around Sam again.  “Barry, meet the flock!  This is Dean.  Mary is over by the fire with Castiel, whom you should know already.”

Barachiel waved cheerfully at them all.  “Father, it feels good to be back on Earth!” he beamed, stomping his feet. 

“Oh.”  Dean did a double take.  “You… you’re rather peppy, aren’t you, for an angel?”

“He’s been like that since _before_ I stabbed him,” Sam sighed. 

“Ahh, so you’re the one,” Dean said.  “I heard about you earlier tonight.  You know, it was because of _you_ that I wasn’t allowed to stab Zadkiel here!”

“Also, because I wasn’t actually trying to take over the bunker,” Zadkiel reminded him.

“That’s besides the point, nerd!”

The guard remained in the yard as the flock began filing toward the bunker.  A few feet into their trek, Dean turned around and frowned.  Zadkiel scanned the yard, looking for threats.

“Oh,” the hunter said in surprise, “I guess… I forgot you guys stayed out here.”

“Yes.”  Zadkiel grinned.  “We find it easiest to plan all our incursions from the treetops where you cannot see us.”

Dean scowled.  “Well, try harder next time.”

“I’ll do that.  Sleep well, Winchesters.”  Zadkiel flew to his post with the rest of the guard and watched the flock from up high. 

 _Gabriel is already having to reassure Dean that he will let you come to breakfast,_ Castiel said as the door shut on the bunker.  _I believe you have made a new friend._

Zadkiel looked over at Barachiel who was showing his scar to an unimpressed Sariel.  _I believe there have been a few friends made tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIFE IS STILL CRAZY...BUT it loooks like I MAY have a place to move to...in the magical land of NARNIA-I mean FLORIDA!  
> Keep your fingers crossed that transportation works out...I'm packing my shit, packing the cats, learning about gators, and ready for a new start!!!  
> Thanks to everyone for all their support and kind words!!  
> Also, I swear I'm gonna answer everyone's comments...I'm just a little behind!!  
> <3<3<3<3<3


	13. ...Is the One You’ll Know By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER SHOUT-OUT to my Discord Darlings and Tumblr friends for all their love and support these past few months.   
> Y'all have seen me through intense life revelations, a terrible breakup, and a spontaneous move to Narnia (aka Florida, land of Soup Air). Life is much better now! And I'm hoping my brain settles down so I can write the SHIT outta all the stuff to come in this series (and beyond)!!!!!
> 
> Sidenote: I really wanted to name this chapter "FUCKING AWKWARD" because it WAS...FUCKING AWKWARD!! I don't think I've ever written so much floof in my life. And...well, you'll see...

Gabriel carried Sam into the bunker, comforted by the fact that his flock once again surrounded him.  Castiel’s refreshing grace reached out to curl against him in tentative reassurance and welcome.  The warm glow of Dean and Mary’s souls followed him down the stairs. 

They were _home_.

The boy in his arms still shook from their flight.  His young grace clung frantically to the archangel’s energy, pulling it closer with a sharp, painful grip.  Sam’s fingers twisted in the fabric of Gabriel’s shirt—the only outward sign that he didn’t wish to be let down. 

“Hold on, kiddo,” he murmured as they walked through the war room.  “We’ll get you settled in just a minute.”

Sam didn’t answer.  His body remained plastered to Gabriel’s chest as his eyes stared glassily at nothing.  Tremors regularly worked their way through the small frame.

After the initial angry outburst about song lyrics and disorientation, Sam had fallen silent.  Gabriel dialed back his grace so it was no longer at drug-levels, but kept it wrapped protectively around them both.  The kid needed to know that returning home would not put an end to the care and comfort he kept trying to deny himself. 

“How is he?” Mary asked, walking faster to move alongside them. 

“Tired and out of it,” Gabriel said with a small smile.  “I’m hoping he’ll sleep for a day or so once he conks out.”

“Good luck with that.”  Dean snorted from behind them.  “Judging by that far-off look in his eyes and how he’s holding himself, I doubt he’ll fall asleep anytime soon.”

“Well, we aren’t busting out whisky,” Gabriel said dryly.  He hoisted Sam up on his hip and leaned to look into the boy’s face.  “What do you think—warm milk or hot tea?”

_No,_ Sam answered through his grace while turning his face into Gabriel’s shirt.

“You sure?”  Gabriel lightly scratched the back of Sam’s hair.  “You’re a bit dehydrated from all your adventures tonight.  You want something else instead?”

_No._

“Okay.”  He frowned, unsure of Sam’s resistance.

“What?” Dean asked, looking worriedly at his brother.

“Sam is decidedly against drinks right now,” he said with a raised eyebrow, silently seeking answers.

_He rarely drinks anything in the hours before sleep,_ Morpheus informed him from the back of the group. 

“I dunno, man.  He’s weird like that sometimes.”  Dean shrugged.  “Are we staying in the big bedroom again?”

“Yup,” Gabriel said, filing Morpheus’ insight away for later.  “No more sleeping alone for this one.  It’s not healthy _or_ safe right now.”

“Good.”  Dean’s entire body sagged in relief.  “That… that’s good.”

“Aww.”  Gabriel grinned and leaned to whisper in Sam’s ear, “I think Deano’s missed sleeping with you wedged beside him.”

“Whatever,” Dean scoffed.  “It’s more like I’ll be _able_ to sleep knowing he isn’t flying off to Neverland or reading dangerous books under his covers.”

Sam tensed and pushed his face harder against Gabriel’s chest. 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll sleep better knowing he doesn’t _need_ to read those kinds of books because we aren’t going anywhere.”  He rubbed Sam’s back.  “And Neverland was an accident.  We are definitely taking precautions to prevent future trips.”

“Good,” Dean said with a nod. 

The communal bedroom—the center of the nest—was just as Gabriel had left it.  All the bedding was fresh and clean and ready to be slept in.  It just needed his flock.

He dropped onto the sofa with a sigh.  Archangels might not get physically tired the same as humans but _damn_ was he tired in other ways.  His grace ached from being wrapped around a fledgling again—a familiar throb from eons ago.  But it had never experienced a young angel like Sam before.

“How are we doing, kiddo?” Gabriel murmured. 

Sam grunted and pushed closer.

“I hear ya.”  He considered shifting Sam to a more comfortable position but decided against it.  The boy was wound too tight, clinging to him with body and grace.  It was probably best to just let him unwind at his own pace.

Dean sat next to them and stared worriedly at his brother.  “Still breathing, Sammy?”

Sam nodded without turning his head. 

“That’s good,” Dean said, nodding.  “You just… keep doing that, okay?”

A small hand inched across Gabriel’s shirt in the direction of the hunter, not quite willing to let go of the fabric but definitely trying to reach his brother.  The boy’s grace twisted toward the bright soul next to them too.  “Dean,” Gabriel whispered and nodded down at the creeping fingers. 

Dean’s entire expression melted as he met Sam’s blindly reaching hand with his own.  “I’m right here, dude.”  His pointer and middle finger were quickly bound in Sam’s grip.  Dean wrapped the rest of his fingers around the small fist so they were holding onto each other.

Sam let out a shuddered breath and relaxed slightly. 

“So, did we miss anything fun tonight?” Gabriel asked after a moment of silence.

“You mean after we were deafened by your lovely musical alarm?”  Mary scoffed and sat in an armchair across from them.  “We may have emptied half the pantry in our mission to teach Zadkiel how to taste things.”

“My music—oh yeah!  Oops!”  He grinned.  “I had, what, ‘Frantic’ by Metallica set as my _Sam’s gone missing from the bunker_ alarm?”

“Yeah, I thought we talked about this,” Dean said with a frown.  “How we _weren’t_ going to have musical alarms going off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Gabriel asked.  “Would you rather have sirens and flashing lights?”

“Can we at least get the playlist for all your alarms?  I have no idea what the different songs mean,” Dean sighed, giving up the argument. 

“Deal!”  Gabriel snapped and stack of papers landed on Dean’s lap. 

“Are you shitting me?” the hunter asked. 

“I would never shit you about security systems.”

“There are over a hundred songs here!” Dean yelled, flipping through the pages one-handed. 

Castiel sat next to Dean on the sofa.  He studied the list over the hunter’s shoulder.  Some he recognized but there were several he had never heard before.  “What is ‘Kiss from a Rose’ and why does it only have heart emojis instead of a scenario listed?”

“That is for me to know,” Gabriel gave his lewdest smile, “and hopefully _you_ to find out.”

“‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’ for if Morpheus magically gives birth to a litter of puppies…” Dean’s voice cracked.  “Is this even possible?”

Morpheus made a choked whining noise. 

“I like to be prepared,” Gabriel said simply. 

Sam shifted in his arms, relaxing further with their banter.  Without the extreme tension, his body slid down Gabriel’s chest so he knelt on the archangel’s thighs.  Slowly, he turned his head toward his brother and blinked against the room’s lights.

“Hey there, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his entire demeanor changing.  He pushed the papers at Castiel.   The seraph carefully folded them before they disappeared into his coat.

The boy gave a half-smile.  Then, his nose wrinkled up like he was going to sneeze.  His looked from the hand holding Dean’s to the one clenched in Gabriel’s shirt before starting to turn his head back into the fabric.

“Hold it,” Gabriel ordered and Sam froze.  “Are you about to wipe your nose on my shirt, young man?”

There was a brief pause.  _Nooo,_ Sam said silently as he slowly shook his head back and forth.  Of course, it was conveniently against Gabriel’s shirt. 

“Brat,” he whispered.  “Is there any part of my clothes not covered in your snot?”

_Your socks?_

“Only because you can’t reach my feet and they’re covered in shoes.”  Gabriel snapped up a hanky and repositioned Sam so he sat sideways facing Dean.  “Man, I’m gonna have to invest in baby wipes or something.  You’re a mess.” 

Sam didn’t release his grip on the shirt or his brother but still tried to squirm away from the hanky.  _I’m not a mess!  My nose just itched._

“Your nose itched _because_ you’re a mess.  Hold still.”  Gabriel managed to wipe the traces of tears and sweat from the boy’s face.  “There.  You’re mildly decent again.”

**_Brother, may I check him once he is more settled?_** Raphael stood behind Mary’s chair, watching Sam closely.  **_I cannot tell from here how much the flight affected his grace.  He may need more healing before he sleeps._**

**_Good idea._** Gabriel gave a nod, then looked down at Sam.  The young grace _seemed_ unharmed by their flight from Heaven.  But with Sam’s inability to recognize his own needs and instincts it was best if they monitored him closely for a while.  “Hey, kiddo.  You think it would be okay if Raphael took a look at you before bedtime?”

Tiny fingers tightened their grip on his shirt and there was a flare a panic through Sam’s grace.  Guarded hazel eyes met Gabriel’s gaze for a moment before the boy took a deep breath and nodded.  _Yeah.  Of course._ Sam released his hold on the fabric and Dean’s hand. 

“Whoa,” Gabriel said, frowning at the sudden change.  “What’s wrong?”

Sam shook his head.  _Nothing.  It’s fine._

“No, something’s wrong.”  Gabriel tilted the kid’s face toward him, forcing him to make eye contact.  _You are upset._

_I’m just tired,_ Sam insisted with a forced smile. 

Gabriel felt him start to move before it happened.  Small muscles tightened, preparing to jump down to the floor.  He had his arm wrapped around Sam’s belly just as the boy began to slip from his lap.

He glanced up to find Raphael frozen mid-stride—like he’d gone to intercept Sam and quit when he realized Gabriel had him.  Castiel made a noise of dismay and held Dean’s arm in a death grip.  The two humans stared at them all in confusion, unsure of everyone’s reactions.

“Um, what _exactly_ are you doing?”  Gabriel asked with a bewildered little laugh. 

_You…_ Sam flailed forward, disoriented by the sudden stop.  His hands latched on to Gabriel’s arm—the only thing holding him in place.  _You said Raphael needed to look me over._  

“He did not say you should throw yourself to the floor,” Raphael chided, walking forward to sit on the coffee table in front of them.  “I can look you over right here, you ridiculous child.”

“Why…?”  Gabriel pulled him back onto his lap, wrapping arms and grace around the fidgeting fledgling.  “Why would you think I wanted you to run across the room?” 

Sam shrugged and avoided eye contact.  

Morpheus shifted down to his small size and darted through the group to land on the couch next to his charge.  Once in place, he shifted back to a chorus of protests—the couch was _not_ large enough to hold three adults, a child, and a small pony.  The shifter nuzzled at Sam’s face until the boy looked at him.

_Can you hear me now, pup?_

Sam jumped, then nodded.

_Good._ He pinned Sam with a look.  _Stay.  You do not need to repeat your experiment from Heaven’s nursery._

“Okay,” Dean interrupted, drawing the word out slowly, “a person with wings needs to explain because _some_ of us have no freakin’ clue what’s going on right now.”

“Samuel mistakenly believed that for me to examine him meant he should separate himself from Gabriel,” Raphael said with a long-suffering sigh.  “Perhaps the flight addled him after all.”

“Wow.”  Dean gave a low whistle and turned to Castiel.  “When you said they’d be clingy, you weren’t kidding.”

“It’s a bit more than clinginess, Deano,” Gabriel explained.  He repositioned Sam so they faced each other, allowing Raphael access to the boy’s wings.  When he continued speaking, he kept his eyes locked with Sam’s gaze so there was no confusion that his words were meant for _both_ brothers.  “Our graces are meshed together right now.  If we physically separated, then it would cause strain on that connection.  And by ‘strain,’ I mean ‘our graces would claw their way back to one another and it would be extremely uncomfortable for all parties involved.’”

Sam’s eyes widened.  _It… your grace would do the same thing mine did?_

“Yes, Sam.  My grace would react very similar to your own.  Except it’s a lot older and stronger and more experienced.  So, let’s just avoid embarrassment for everyone by _not_ sending the ancient energy into a tantrum, okay?”  Gabriel smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

_How long?_ Sam asked.

“‘How long’ what?”

_How long will it be like this for you?_  The kid fiddled with Gabriel’s shirt, his eyes dropping away from the archangel’s face.  _How long will you be stuck carrying me around or else risk your grace tearing its way through your chest?_

Gabriel pursed his lips in thought.  He doubted there’d ever come a time when he wouldn’t want to hold Sam.  “I’m pretty sure I’ll feel like this long after you’ve reached adulthood again.” 

_Seriously!?_  Sam choked in horror.  _Oh God, that’s… No.  I’m so sorry!_

“You’re… what?” Gabriel laughed, confused.  “Dad help me, I need a translator because we are clearly having different conversations here!  Why the hell are you sorry?”

“Brother, he wants to know how long this extreme _need_ for physical contact will continue,” Raphael sighed, “not how long you _wish_ to carry him around.”

“Is there a difference?” Gabriel smirked.

Raphael kicked his shin.  “Yes, there is.”

“Ow!  Fine,” he looked at the sullen boy and tapped his chin, “a week, maybe two.  A month at the most.  Then you can run around, tripping on your own feet again.”

_Oh._ Sam chewed his lip, losing some of his extreme panic.  _Still, almost a month? I’m sorry._

“Hey,” Gabriel frowned and tapped Sam’s chin again until he looked up, “why do you keep apologizing?”

_Because,_ Sam shrugged, _that’s a long time to have me basically living up your ass twenty-four/seven._

“You think…” Gabriel shook his head.  _Listen, if it were up to me, I would keep you by my side for the next several eons.  Did you already forget what I said up in Heaven?_

_No._   Sam’s brow furrowed as he thought.  _Wait, which part?_

_The part where you are mine, Sam Winchester._   He brushed the curls out of Sam’s eyes.  _Remember that conversation?_

Sam blushed and nodded.  The young grace warmed with the memory, swirling against Gabriel.  But the boy was still hesitant—still reluctant to accept the truth. 

_Has anything changed in the last hour?_

Sam glanced at his brother and Castiel.  He gave a slight shake of his head without looking up.  The message was clear—being back home and around people was a change.

“O-oh, I see,” Gabriel said softly, running his fingers through Sam’s hair.  “You thought we’d come home and just pretend everything we did and said in Heaven was like some fever dream, right?  Or did you think I said those things just to get the reaction I needed but weren’t really true?”

Sam tried to shrug and shake his head at the same time.  It came out as an awkward full-body shudder instead.  He curled forward, pressing his forehead against Gabriel’s chest.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Alright, Raph—take a peek at this kid for me.  He needs to sleep sometime before the new year.”  He held Sam close, keeping his hands on the boy’s hair and lower back.  They would need to have _so many_ conversations in the near future—possibly even tonight.  _I guess it’s a good thing he won’t be able to avoid talking to me the next few weeks,_ he thought wryly. 

Raphael carefully ran his fingers and grace over Sam’s shoulders before actually touching his wings.  “ **Easy, little one,** ” the Healer said when Sam flinched.  “ **I am only looking right now.  There does not seem to be anything that requires immediate attention.** ”

Gabriel stopped himself from pulling Sam away from the other archangel.  Raphael’s grace, while familiar, was still an intrusion.  But it did neither of them any good to isolate away from the rest of the flock just because they were bound so close together. 

A heavy warmth swept across Gabriel’s shoulders, smacking the back of his head as it went.  He looked up to find Raphael smirking.  **_Relax, brother. You know I am not going to come between you two.  Settle yourself.  If Samuel growls at me because he picks up on your territorial nature then I will not be able to contain myself—I will laugh at you both._**

**_Rude!_** Gabriel grinned but did as he was told.  “So,” he said, glancing at Dean and Castiel, “you emptied the pantry teaching Zadkiel to taste things, huh?”

“Oh man, you would have been so proud of Cas!  He had that nerd tasting things in under twenty minutes.”  Dean’s grin suddenly turned to a scowl.  “Of course, he fed your brother the most disgusting things ever, so he lost points for food choices.”

“I’m pretty sure _you_ were the one trying to get Zadkiel to eat a whole clove of garlic,” Mary said pointedly. 

“That was _after_ he’d already proved to be a huge weirdo for liking all that shit Cas fed him,” Dean argued.  He elbowed Castiel in the ribs and side-eyed him.  “Lemons and coffee and potato chips, dude?! Really?!”

Castiel shrugged, squinting his eyes at the hunter.  “It worked,” he said simply.

Gabriel laughed quietly as they continued listing the various things they did that evening.  Their voices calmed him—and Sam.  The boy uncurled and watched their brothers playfully argue, no longer focused solely on Raphael’s exam.

The Healer’s grace flowed over frayed pathways to reinforce the protective barriers.  They looked awful.  The flight to Heaven had shredded every ounce of work they’d done in the past weeks.  And while it didn’t seem like the return trip had caused further injury, it certainly hadn’t done them any favors either. 

“Okay,” Raphael finally said, leaning back.  “I’ve wrapped a few more layers around your wings.  We will need to work on them tomorrow but this will keep them secure until then.”

“Any complications from the flight home?” Gabriel asked.

“None that I noticed.  His grace is exhausted and strained, but that was from his flight into Heaven.”  Raphael reached forward and ruffled Gabriel’s hair.  “You kept him well protected, brother.  He needs rest and nourishment—both for his grace and body.  You were right about the dehydration.”

“What do you say?  You ready for that drink now?” Gabriel pushed the hair back from Sam’s eyes but the kid just shook his head and wouldn’t look at him.  Sighing in defeat, he said, “Well, can’t blame a guy for trying.  Okay, folks, it’s way past bedtime for this flock.  It’s dawn-o-clock out there.  I’m turning off everyone’s alarms and you are all expected to sleep well past lunchtime, understood?”

“I think we can handle that,” Mary said with a yawn.  She walked toward them, leaning down to plant a kiss on Sam’s temple.  “I love you, Sammy.  Get some rest, okay?  No more flying tonight.”

Sam grabbed her hand and dragged it to his face.  He kissed the back of her knuckles.  Blushing fiercely, he let go of her hand. 

“That goes for both of you,” Mary laughed and surprised Gabriel with a kiss to his cheek too.

“Such a gentleman,” Dean chuckled, clapping his brother on the back as he stood up and stretched.  He pushed past Castiel and flopped onto the main bed with a groan.  “Man, I could sleep for a week.”

“I’d settle for you sleeping through an entire night,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes.  He turned to Sam.  “I am glad you are home and safe.  We were all very worried.”

_Thanks, Cas,_ Sam replied through his grace, smiling shyly.  _I didn’t mean to worry everyone.  I didn’t even mean to go anywhere._

“I know.”  Castiel returned the smile.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam’s smile slipped and he shrugged instead of answering. 

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel said to them both, “there won’t be any more flying for a while.  Especially unscheduled trips!  We’re staying right here.”  He wrapped his arms around Sam and just held him close.  The boy’s muscles tightened for a moment before relaxing. 

_Gabriel,_ Sam’s voice whispered in his mind, a _m I gonna sleep on the couch?_

_No, you’re not sleeping on the couch!_ Gabriel scoffed.  He snagged the blanket that was draped on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Sam’s shoulders.  Getting an arm under the kid’s knees, he pulled Sam to lay sideways.

_What…?_ Sam sounded startled.  His hands grabbed Gabriel’s shirt as he was tilted without warning.

_I already said you’re sleeping right here.  So, close those eyes and relax.  There’s no way you’re flying anywhere with me holding on to you._

_Um,_ Sam frowned.  _I didn’t realize you meant that literally._

_You thought I was going to metaphorically hold on to you?_  Gabriel watched the others settle into their beds.  He wanted to cheer when Castiel _actually_ took off his shoes and coat and laid down next to Dean. 

_Kinda, yeah._   Sam squirmed.  _Gabriel, you can’t hold me every night.  I’ll never be able to sleep like this!_

_Why?  Are you uncomfortable?_   He adjusted the blanket, making sure it wasn’t wrapped around Sam’s feet in a confining way. 

_It’s… weird._

_Bad-weird?_  He suddenly worried he was pushing too much on Sam.  Maybe being held by an archangel all night _wasn’t_ a good idea.

_No, not… bad.  Just weird._  

_Well, try and relax.  Your body and grace are exhausted.  And I know that big brain of yours has to be too._

Raphael lowered the lights in the room with a wave of his hand and settled into an armchair.  Mary fell asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.  Dean hadn’t moved since landing on the bed.

Morpheus shifted down to his smaller size and curled against Gabriel’s hip.  _Goodnight, pup.  I am right here if you need anything._   Sam snaked an arm out of the blanket to give him a quick pet behind the ears.

Gabriel smiled and relaxed into the cushions.  The longest night ever had already turned to day but at least they’d reached the end.  He swayed gently on the sofa and waited for Sam to follow the others into sleep.

* * *

Sam tried to sleep.  He closed his eyes and held his body as still as possible.  But it didn’t stop his mind from racing.  How could so many things happen in just a few short hours? 

The flight home had been terrifying, even with the grace drugging him.  He’d never be able to hear _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ again without thinking he was falling through space and time.  His breath caught in his throat at the memory of the empty _between_.

But it was the earlier events of the evening that haunted him the most.  The conversation with Gabriel in the nursery.  Leaving Bobby behind again.  Fighting against all the angels in the Hall.  Gabriel and Raphael discovering the book in his bedroom. 

Sam shifted around so he could scratch his arms under the blanket.  He couldn’t remember ever being held this way—especially not at bedtime.  Dean had barely been big enough to hold him as a kid.  They usually just curled up together like lost puppies in the middle of the bed until they were deemed “too old” for such behavior.  And their dad hadn’t exactly been big on cuddles.

Besides, the angle felt all wrong for sleeping—he couldn’t stretch out or flop over.  It was like a hug that never ended.  His feet moved restlessly along the couch cushion as he scratched his neck.  Everything itched.

_You got ants in your pants or something?_ Gabriel asked, pulling the blanket away from his face.    

_Sorry._   Sam stilled his movements, opting to chew on the edge of a fingernail instead.  The pinch provided some relief to the feeling of static running along his skin.

Gabriel studied him for a moment.  _You having trouble sleeping?_

_A little._   Sam shrugged.  He was beyond exhausted—that was the problem.  He felt wired.  It always happened after a long hunt when he’d run on coffee and adrenaline and fumes for days.  When the hunt ended, it sometimes took another day or two for his body and mind to shut down.

“Hmm.”  The archangel hummed as he thought.  He pulled the blanket down further and turned Sam’s arm over.  Long red scratches were visible against his pale skin.  _Are you itchy?  Or is it nerves?_ he asked, frowning in concern.

Sam shrugged again.  What did it matter?  Both made him scratch. 

“Let him rinse off in the shower, change his clothes, and stretch out on the other bed like normal sleeping people,” Dean’s muffled voice broke the silence of the room. 

“What?” Gabriel asked, looking startled. 

Dean rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow, squinting at them in the dark.  “Sam sweats like an ice cube in a frying pan.  It’s probably all stuck to his skin.  Plus whatever shit he picked up in Heaven.  He never sleeps after sweating that much.  And if you cocoon him in a blanket, he’s just gonna sweat more.  The kid moves like he’s running races in his sleep.  He needs to stretch out next to you.”

_Oh my God,_ Sam groaned to Gabriel, _I thought he was asleep._

_I guess his big brother senses were tingling,_ Gabriel said with a grin.  “Okay, Deano—bath, clothes, and stretching.  Anything else?”

“Just watch your shins.  He kicks,” Dean answered, then flopped back onto his pillow. 

“Sounds like a plan.  You joining us, furball?”  Gabriel asked Morpheus as he peeled the blanket away and stood, balancing Sam on his hip.  

_Of course._ Morpheus leapt from the couch, shifting to his larger size before his feet hit the ground.  _Someone should keep an eye on you two.  Trouble seems to follow wherever you go._

“Fair point,” Gabriel conceded.  “Any requests, Samshine?  Favorite music?  Rainbow bubbles that sparkle and smell like birthday cake?”

Sam shook his head as they made their way out of the room.  As much as he wanted to clean up and change his clothes, this also presented another stressful situation.  He and Gabriel would be alone again—which seemed to keep leading to long and painful conversations.

_I don’t need a bath, Gabriel.  I can just rinse off with the showerhead._

“Pfffft,” Gabriel laughed.  “That’s not very relaxing.  No, you’re getting the full spa treatment.  Otherwise, you’ll still be awake at Christmas.”

_I don’t even know what ‘full spa treatment’ means._

“No worries!  I won’t let you live in ignorance while I’m around.”  The archangel’s smile was a little too gleeful to be reassuring. 

They stopped by Sam’s room to gather fresh clothes.  The bed looked like it had been stripped in a hurry with his pillows and sheets on the floor.  He tried not to imagine Dean and the others running in to find it like that. 

_Are we sure Morpheus is okay?  Did Raphael look him over?_   Sam stared at the canine, searching for any sign of lingering injury or distress.  _How do we know that I didn’t hurt him in the flight?  Or that being in Heaven didn’t hurt him?  Actually, how was he able to_ be _in Heaven at all?  I thought it killed any living being._

“Whoa there, mister.  One question at a time.”  Gabriel grabbed pajamas from a drawer.  “Yes, Morpheus is okay.  Yes, Raphael really looked him over.  Raphael protected him on the flight home and would have had a very close look at Morpheus before leaving.”

_Are you still fretting over me, pup?_ Morpheus chuffed as they walked toward the bathroom.

“He’s fretting about everything,” Gabriel answered for him.  “Now, I don’t _think_ your flight there hurt him.  But I do know that he’s able to freely move about Heaven and Hell without being harmed by the location itself thanks to a nifty artifact from Hecate.”

_I am perfectly well.  The only injury I sustained was when you were fighting off the angels and that was not serious.  Nuriel barely even provided any healing—it only served to wake me up faster._

_You sure?_ Sam asked.  They entered the bathroom and the bright light allowed him to see Morpheus even clearer.

“He wants to know if you’re sure,” Gabriel relayed, sitting down on the toilet seat lid and starting the water. 

Morpheus moved closer to stare into Sam’s face.  _I believe the Healer may need to take another look at_ you, _pup.  It seems he missed something in your poor brain._

Sam carefully ran his fingers through the shifter’s fur, both for reassurance and to search for any hidden injuries.  He couldn’t get the image of Morpheus lying motionless on the ground out of his mind.  The spotless fur parted like silk and he wondered how it stayed so clean.

_It reverts to its original form whenever I shift.  Even if you dyed or cut it, everything would return to normal once I changed size._ Morpheus landed a lick on Sam’s nose. 

_Are you… hearing my thoughts?_ Sam asked, eyes wide in surprise.

“He thinks you’re reading his mind,” Gabriel said as he adjusted the water temperature for the fifth time.  He threw a handful of something into the tub which rapidly turned the water dark blue and filled the air with the scent of jasmine and rain.

_I do not need to read your mind,_ Morpheus explained.  _I can read your face._

_Tell him to leave my face out of this._   Sam groaned, covering the canine’s eyes with his hand. _And why is the water blue?  What did you put in it—a bath bomb?_

“I don’t need to—your face is already saying it loud and clear.” Gabriel said with a smirk.  “The water is blue to help keep you modest.  I’m surprised you’ve even heard of a bath bomb.”

Morpheus shook his head and licked at Sam’s hands and arms.  What started as a few playful laps quickly turned into a methodical washing of his skin.  _Ugh, your brother is right—you do sweat a lot.  No wonder you couldn’t get comfortable._

_Well, your slobber is_ not _going to make it better!_  Sam tried to push Morpheus away, but every attempt ended in even more licks.  _Gabriel, make him stop!_

The tongue disappeared when Sam’s shirt unexpectedly covered his head.  The rush of pouring water went silent.  “You’re in luck,” Gabriel said, wrestling the shirt all the way off of him.  “I can’t make him stop but I _can_ hide you in the bath, Sam-a-lam.”

_I don’t know if I’d count a bathtub as a hiding spot._   Sam shot the archangel an incredulous look as he was allowed to drop to the floor and strip off his pants.  _It’s really just a Morpheus-sized water bowl._

“Morpheus already said you taste terrible,” Gabriel snorted and quickly transferred Sam into the gloriously hot water.  “I think you’re safe for now.  Of course, he may change his mind once you’re clean.”

All thought of a comeback left Sam’s mind as soon as his body was submerged in the water.  He actually groaned as the heat spread through his aching muscles.  They’d been so tense for so long he hadn’t realized how much they hurt until now.

A soft hot cloth against his back made Sam jump. 

“Relax,” Gabriel sang quietly.  He was kneeling beside the tub, sleeves rolled up past the elbows.  “Let your mind and body calm down.  I’ll focus on the rest.”

Sam felt his mind and body do the exact opposite as the archangel ran the cloth along his spine.  It felt _good_.  But he was still being bathed by another person—while _naked_.  When was the last time that had happened? 

John stopped helping with baths once Dean could get himself and Sam into the tub on his own.  The brothers had bathed together in the early years—when Dean was too small to reach Sam over the edge of the tub and Sam was too small to safely sit by himself.  Memories of dingy motel room bathtubs, soap burning his eyes, and water that was too cold flowed through his mind. 

“If I told you to tense completely, do you think you’d actually loosen up?” Gabriel joked as he gently tugged on Sam’s rigid arm.

_Sorry,_ Sam said with a sigh.  He tried forcing his arm to go limp.  It twitched in the archangel’s grasp instead. 

“You okay?”

_Yeah._  He stared down at his reflection in the indigo water while Gabriel wiped the sweat from his arm.  _Just thinking.  Remembering the last time someone had_ given _me a bath that wasn’t because of an illness or hunting injury._   The ice bath during the Trials probably didn’t count.

“Hmm,” Gabriel hummed without comment.  He repeated the process with the other arm, then handed Sam the cloth.  “Here, you get the parts below the water.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sam made quick work of washing everything below his waist.  As nice as it was to have his back washed, there were some things he wanted to continue doing himself.  He was sure to get the soles of his feet extra clean—Heaven apparently had _filthy_ floors.

“And now, for the pièce de résistance,” Gabriel wiggled his fingers dramatically.  “Are you ready to have the best hair washing of your life?”

_Um…_   Sam panicked as he thought of soap in his eyes and Dean screaming at him to stay still.  _Do we have to?_

“Do we have to wash your hair?”  Gabriel frowned.  “I mean, technically I could use grace to clean it but you’re pretty overstimulated already.  It’ll be better to just wash it manually.  Plus, _magic fingers_!”  He wiggled his fingers again.

_I guess._   Sam’s shoulders dropped in resignation to his fate.  _Just… try not to get any soap in my eyes, please?_  

“What kind of amateur do you think I am?”  Gabriel sounded offended but his hands were extra gentle as they supported Sam’s neck and leaned him back.  “I haven’t gotten soap in someone’s eyes since… well, never!”

_Uh huh._   Sam clenched his eyes shut as water poured over his head.  True to the archangel’s word, the liquid didn’t go an inch past his hairline.  It didn’t even slosh into his ears.  Once his hair was completely soaked, Sam heard a finger snap.

“Just me,” Gabriel said needlessly.  “It’s easier to snap up the shampoo than fuss with a bottle.” 

Sam agreed when those fingers began working the soap into his scalp.  He’d grown used to everyone playing with his hair over the past few weeks—but this was something entirely different.  Fingertips dug into pressure points, sending a cascade of tingles down his spine that liquified the muscles in their wake.  Only Gabriel’s hands kept him from falling back into the water. 

“There we go,” Gabriel murmured above him.  “I got you.”

Sam floated on sensations as the soap was carefully rinsed from his hair and conditioner massaged in.  The fingers continued to scratch lightly at his scalp as the minutes ticked by.  He blinked his eyes open when he felt his mind start to drift, not wanting to fall asleep in the tub.

Gabriel was utterly immersed in the moment.  His eyes sparkled with quiet joy and he radiated contentment.  As soon as he noticed Sam watching him, he smiled warmly.  “Hey you.”

_Hey._  Sam returned the smile.

“We’re almost done here.  I promise.”

_Okay._   His eyes slid shut again all on their own.  _This… this is kinda nice.  I didn’t think I’d like it._

“Humans have enjoyed spa treatments for centuries.  Get with the times, you peasant!” 

Sam snorted and flicked water in the archangel’s general direction. 

“You little…” Gabriel sputtered.  “You’re lucky I’m trying to lull you to sleep right now.  Because otherwise, that would have meant war.”

_Uh huh._   Sam’s grin was broken by a yawn.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed.”  The playfulness in Gabriel’s voice was replaced by that soft tone Sam still wasn’t used to. 

He tried to contemplate it while the conditioner was rinsed away but his mind kept drifting more and more.  The sound of water draining away only served to make his body feel heavier.  A warm towel wrapped around him before the air chilled his skin. 

_Clothes,_ Sam mumbled to Gabriel as they walked through the hall _._ He vaguely recalled gathering them before the bath.

“Don’t worry—I didn’t forget them,” Gabriel chuckled. 

He jolted awake when they stopped moving and he found himself on the third bed in the shared bedroom.  Dean’s snoring form could barely be seen through the darkness in the bed next to him.  Sam blinked slowly in confusion from within his towel cocoon when a pair of underwear appeared in front of his eyes.   

“Can you put these on or do you need help?” Gabriel whispered without a hint of mockery. 

Sam forced his limbs to cooperate and wrestled the boxer briefs up his legs.  Exhausted from the effort, he flopped back onto the bed as soon as he finished.  Blindly, he held a hand out for the next clothing item. 

Something warm and gooey touched his leg.  Sam tried to kick it away but fingers gripped his ankle.  He scowled when Gabriel snorted.

“Hold on.  Your skin’s gonna dry up and make you all itchy again if I don’t do this first.”  The archangel rubbed the goo into Sam’s leg and foot.

_Is that… lotion?_ Sam asked after a moment of searching for the word.

“Duh.  It’s what you put on after taking a bath in winter.”  Gabriel moved to the other leg.  “Especially when you live in a freaking bunker.”

_Why?_

“What do you mean ‘why?’”  Gabriel shimmied the sleep pants up his legs. 

Sam barely had the wherewithal to lift his hips to help.  He was too hung up on the fact that someone was putting _lotion_ on him.  _Why does it matter?_

“It matters because _you_ matter,” Gabriel said softly.  He shifted further up the bed and began slathering the stuff onto Sam’s arms.  “Your skin is covered in dry patches.  It needs to be moisturized.  And it’s my job to take care of your needs.”

_Gabriel, you don’t have to… I can put lotion on myself_. 

“I know.” 

The hands never paused as they worked the cream in from his shoulders to each fingertip.  Warm tendrils of love and contentment trailed across his skin with each touch.  It was milder than the overwhelming cloud of emotion Gabriel wrapped around him in Heaven. 

Tears burned behind closed eyelids when the hands swept back up to his shoulders and moved across his collarbone and chest.  It was one thing for Gabriel to baby him in the midst of a crisis but that situation had ended hours ago.  Why was he still treating Sam like… _this?_  

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Gabriel whispered, resting a hand on Sam’s belly.  Warmth suffused his being but seemed to highlight all the raw areas rather than pacify them.  “You’ve had a really long day after a really long month after an even longer life.  There’s a lot to adjust to now—and you’re doing _so_ good.”

Sam chewed his lip and tried to keep his breathing under control.  The last thing he wanted to do was have another emotional meltdown.  He’d already met his crying quota for the year. 

“Turn over for me so I can get your back and then you can go to sleep, okay?”  Hands helped maneuver him onto his stomach, removing the wet towel from the bed in the process.  A handkerchief was pressed into Sam’s fingers before he could wipe his face.  “You don’t want to get lotion in your eyes.”

Tucking his arms under him, Sam pressed the cloth against his eyes hard enough to see spots.  This had to be a hazy dream—too good to be true and definitely too good to last.  What would happen when he woke up?

Fingers dug the tension out of his shoulders where wings-met-spine.  The muscles there maintained a constant thrum of energy, sometimes spasming when it grew too much.  Gabriel soothed both grace and flesh until they melted into liquid. 

“There we go,” the archangel’s voice drifted over him.  The hands continued spreading lotion slowly into his back in light circles.  “You go to sleep now.  I’ll be right here beside you all night and Morpheus will be on your other side.  No one’s going anywhere.”

The mattress dipped as Morpheus stepped up in his large form.  He sank down against Sam, his silky fur tickling the exposed skin on his right side.  Morpheus chuffed when Sam shivered at the sensation, then nuzzled the back of his hair.  _Gabrieloki is correct.  No more fretting._

Sam let out a shaky breath and tried again to let sleep take him.  His grace was no longer trying to strangle him like it had been the past few weeks.  It thrummed contentedly inside the grace Gabriel had wrapped around him. 

What would happen when they eventually had to separate? 

He clenched his eyes tighter at the thought and pressed his face into the mattress.  Worrying was just going to undo all of Gabriel’s efforts.  Not the best way to show how appreciative he was toward the archangel. 

_Dear Sam’s brain—you are a menace.  Please do us all a favor and shut the fuck up long enough for this boy to go to sleep._

Sam startled at the sound of Gabriel’s voice in his head, then huffed a small laugh.  The archangel stretched out on the bed and something soft, warm, and _alive_ draped across his shoulders.  Blinking, he saw only golden light.  _Wings._

Turning his head, he found Gabriel facing him with an exasperated smile at the ready.  “Hmm, opening your eyes seems counterproductive to falling asleep,” he whispered.  “Unless you’re one of those people who sleep with their eyes open all night.” 

A finger lazily swirled through the air.  Sam watched it draw closer and closer to his face.  He swatted it away right before it could land on his nose. 

Gabriel grinned.  “Nope.  Still awake.”  He brushed Sam’s hair back from his face, using a touch of grace to dry it.  “I’d offer to sing, but that probably won’t help any.  I really feel cheated on that front, you know?  I mean, who makes the Messenger the _worst_ singer of the angel choir?  Nice joke, Dad.  Oh, do you want Raphael to serenade us?  He’s my favorite singer.”

Sam shook his head as his eyes finally grew heavy.  The words were spoken in a low murmur.  The reassurance that Gabriel was _there_ was sweeter than any song. 

This moment was unlike any other experience in his lifetime.  He wanted to engrave it on his memory and cherish it forever.  Just in case it was one-of-a-kind.

His gaze traced Gabriel’s face.  The archangel just sighed and smiled softly, like he understood.  Fingers returned to play with his hair—the weight of which added the physical reminder of his presence.

The time between blinks grew longer and longer until finally, Sam’s eyes remained closed.

* * *

Raphael watched in silence as the boy at long last slipped into sleep.  Why must everything be a struggle for him?  It was to the point where even basic instincts seemed to work against him.

“Thank Dad,” Gabriel said under his breath, only loud enough for the angels and Morpheus to hear.  “I hope this isn’t a new nightly routine.”

“His brother said this behavior is normal after a stressful event,” Raphael pointed out.  “Perhaps Samuel will settle within a day or two.”

“It is normal to an extent,” Castiel said, keeping his voice as low as the others, “but it is rarely this extreme.  And I have never seen him so… focused on another person unless Dean has just survived another near-death experience.” 

Morpheus raised his head slightly from the bed.   _He’s had nightmares every night since returning to his own room.  They are part of the reason he was reading so much—because he wished to keep himself awake._

In his sleep, Samuel reached out a hand in search of Gabriel.  The Messenger caught it with his own and the boy melted further into sleep.  “I’ll admit—even when I was wrestling with him in the nursery to release his grace and let me in, I didn’t really expect _this_.”  His thumb traced the tiny knuckles in wonder.  “But I think maybe I should have.  Considering.”

“Considering?” Raphael prompted.  He glanced at Castiel but the seraph shook his head, equally unsure.

“Considering a lot of things that I should have pieced together.  His dream, for starters—this extreme fear of abandonment.  Mix that with his fierce need for independence and self-reliance, and you got a kid who already counts himself as alone.”  Gabriel met Raphael’s gaze, anger and pain pouring off him in waves.  “I also learned some details tonight that put a lot of things into perspective.”

He’d seen Gabriel’s rage walking out of the nursery—knew it was bad. 

“What details?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel shook his head.  “I can’t share the specifics without Sam awake—I promised.  But I can say they pertain to John.”

Castiel’s lips pursed as he looked to his own charge.  “I can imagine,” he murmured.  The hunter snored softly, ignorant of the conversation going on around him. 

“Honestly, Cassie?  If you were sitting on these kinds of details about the boys and didn’t share them with your flock leader, you and I would be having a very long conversation.”  Gabriel sighed.  “But as I’m pretty sure even _Dean_ doesn’t know about everything I discovered tonight, I’ll hold off on any lectures.”

Sour surprise twisted Raphael’s grace.  They had learned quite a bit about the brothers’ childhood over the past several weeks.  Most of it was horrifying—children left alone for days and weeks, little-to-no food, forced to fight and train far too young, no stability or emotional support.  But it did not bode well if one brother kept secrets from the other about specific incidents.

“When do you wish to address these things?” Raphael asked.  He knew his brother—there was no question of “if.” 

“We’ll _start_ tomorrow,” Gabriel said.  “The kid’s still freaked about us finding that book.  We can’t do anything about the rest of it until we address _why_ he was so determined to have a blade.  And assure him that us being upset with his actions does _not_ mean he’s shunned until further notice.”

“What?”  Raphael frowned.  Shunned? 

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighed in frustration.  “He about had a fit because I dared to hug him and joke around in Heaven.”

“I do not understand.  Why…”

“Apparently, it didn’t matter that he’d just accidentally crossed dimensions or shredded his wings or been scared to death.  I should have still been very angry with him.”  Gabriel rolled his eyes.  “I swear, I’m going to combust if he tells me to ‘stop being so nice’ one more time.”

Castiel snorted.  “He thinks you are too nice?”

“I know!  First time anyone’s accused me of _that_ since the dawn of time.”

Raphael heard the weariness past the joking tone of his brother’s voice.  For once, he was equally at a loss.  They were in completely new territory where Samuel was concerned. 

“I believe discussing these issues will merely bring them to light.  No amount of promises will convince the child of any changes to his situation.”  He mentally ran through the events of the evening once more.  Words had remained meaningless to Samuel, regardless of who said them.  But he _had_ responded well to one thing.  “He will require action.”

_Seeing is believing,_ Morpheus said. 

Gabriel nodded in agreement.  “Then, I guess we need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I thanked you all for your patience yet? Because THANK YOU FOR YOUR FUCKING PATIENCE!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed my soul and will result in MORE Morpheus kisses <3
> 
> Come be my friend on Tumblr: @TheRiverScribe

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Saudade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381719) by [nathyfaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nathyfaith/pseuds/nathyfaith)
  * [Salvation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826553) by [MoonFire1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonFire1/pseuds/MoonFire1)
  * [A Message From Heaven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246277) by [UmbraeCalamitas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraeCalamitas/pseuds/UmbraeCalamitas)




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